


The Pen and the Sword

by MyrsineMezzo



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Academic Fluff Ahead, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Not even a little bit unrequited, Teacher-Student Feelings, These Characters are my babies, pretty slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-04-06 05:17:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrsineMezzo/pseuds/MyrsineMezzo
Summary: Brienne Tarth is a Classics professor at Cornell University who has fought her way into having a brilliant career in a male-dominated field. She thinks she has everything she wants until a doctoral student who shares her love of weapons and warfare turns everything upside down. A completely jaded History major, Jaime Lannister doesn't know what hit him when he enters his new professor's classroom. What started as a required course he's desperate to avoid leads him to find inspiration and maybe more in this modern-day AU.





	1. A Lion in Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this twitter post which I absolutely adored:  
> [Jaime and Brienne pic on Twitter](https://twitter.com/BrainyViolinist/status/1131319568662704128)

“Youth is quick in feeling but weak in judgement.” - Homer

Cornell University, Ithaca, New York  


Winter had come––or Winter Session at Cornell University had come, at any rate––and Jaime Lannister dreaded it with all his heart.  


It was January, and snow swathed the hills and valleys of Ithaca in central New York State. He observed the frigid scene beyond his apartment windows with a glum look. Jaime had wanted to go home to England to spend the school holiday with his father, his siblings, and his large extended family. He missed the Casterly Rock estate with its extravagant Christmas decorations that would be coming down soon and its extensive grounds covered in a white gloss of frost. The current unending snowfall surrounding him was much less to his liking, and he turned away from the window to stare into the fire. Feeling more lonely than he had in quite some time, Jaime sat in a massive gold-upholstered armchair in the luxurious apartment he shared with his twin sister, Cersei, and tried to concentrate on a book. His surroundings distracted him, though, and the gold and red wallpaper and plush crimson carpets on the floor made him feel like he was sitting in the ulcerating stomach of some giant beast. Cersei had decorated the space, and although she excelled at her chosen field of Political Science, he was not convinced that interior design was one of her talents. 

Opening the book to where a bookmark rested, Jaime studied the text on medieval swordsmanship. The subject usually fascinated him, capturing his attention and imagination as few other topics could. His passion for blades had led him to pursue his degrees in History over the past several years. When Cersei moved to the United States to get a Ph.D. in Political Science at Cornell, he had trailed after her as he always had. Now he was more or less committed to finishing and getting the damned piece of paper that would help prove to both the world and to his father that he had brains as well as looks. The words blurred on the page in front of his eyes, though, as his attention wandered. His mind turned again towards contemplating his studies for the next month. He remembered the last words he'd had with his father, Tywin, about it. The two had argued about Jaime's less-than-perfect grades from the Fall semester. "I pay enough money to that damned school for your tuition. You will stay there this Christmas and work on your studies," his father said in his measured tone that was somehow even harsher than if he had shouted over the phone. Even Cersei had suggested he stay. "I'll be spending all my time laying groundwork for an independent study project," she'd said in her practical tone that brooked no opposition. "We won't be able to see each other, so you might as well stay at in Ithaca and make Father happy." So here he sat. 

Flipping the book closed with a snap, he set it on the floor and reached for his laptop sitting on the lacquered coffee table in front of him. He pulled open his email and read for a second time the message from his department’s graduate student advisor, Dr. Luwin. Luwin had pulled Jaime into his office at the end of the Fall semester. The older man seemed concerned over Jaime's career trajectory, although he voiced his thoughts in a much gentler tone than Jaime's father had. 

"You seem to be drifting, Mr. Lannister. I think you should consider taking a course for the Winter Session...Perhaps one that would align with your studies for your comprehensive exams next semester." The man was exceedingly kind but firm in his opinion that Jaime needed to get back on track with his education by observing a Winter Session course. However, they were primarily for undergraduates, and he resented the feeling that he was being punished as if he were a wayward child forced to take summer school. Focusing on the email in front of him, he read it aloud to the empty room once more in disbelief:

"I recommend auditing Introduction to Ancient Greek History with Professor Tarth for the Winter Session. Professor Tarth is doing quite innovative and interdisciplinary work. You would do well to take one of the professor's classes in the Classics department. Perhaps by the end of the Session, Professor Tarth would be willing to be on your dissertation committee as your outside reader." He did his best not to slam the laptop back on the coffee table as he got to his feet and began to pace before the windows. "For Christ's sake, does he seriously expect me to take an Intro course?" Jaime raged to the empty air. He could practically picture this Professor Tarth. He'd probably be some musty old joyless Classics professor suffering from an overabundance of tweed and sporting a copious white beard. There was no reason he couldn't take an Ancient History course in his own History department. Lord knew they had enough courses on the ancient world to give him all the information he needed for his exams. The only problem was that everyone knew Dr. Luwin did not get along with Dr. Pycelle who taught their Ancient History seminars. It was a poorly-kept secret that one hadn't recommended the other for tenure, and they'd had a loud falling out over it several years earlier at a faculty party following one too many drinks. 

He finished the last lines of the email practically by memory, having read it so many times that it was imprinted on his brain. "I know you would like to examine the transition of sword fighting and strategy from the ancient world into the medieval era. That is a worthwhile area of study, and a hands-on Classics course will be just the thing." He knocked his forehead gently against the window, muttering, "Just the thing to drive me crazy, you mean." 

At least Luwin thought his idea would make a good topic. Jaime knew everyone in the department compared him to his father who was a widely known and well-regarded military history scholar teaching at Oxford. Studying how sword fighting and sword smithing transitioned from the ancient world into the medieval period was an angle his father had never pursued, which was one of the reasons Jaime wanted to stake his claim on the subject through his future dissertation. "I suppose the old man may have a point," he mused. "Getting to know this Professor Tarth could come in handy for something, I suppose." He returned to his laptop and punched in the address to Cornell's online course system. There were still a few openings in Tarth's class which started the next day. With only a moment's hesitation, he clicked on the button next to Introduction to Ancient Greek History. "Classics 101, here we go," he sighed in a resigned fashion.

Normally, he would be excited about a new course and would look up everything he could find about his new teacher, including reading their publications and anything else pertinent to the subject. Instead, he poured himself a drink and settled in front of the fire fully intending to drown his sorrows until he would stagger off to his cold bed. This was going to be a throwaway course at worst and a possible networking opportunity at best. Whether he'd actually learn anything useful or not remained to be seen. Regardless, tomorrow would take care of itself, he decided. Jaime downed his whisky in one gulp, feeling that fate had dealt him a terribly unfair blow.

\------------

"This is completely unfair, and you know it is!" Dr. Brienne Tarth held her head in her hands, staring down at her desk. The early-morning light streamed through the window behind her, filling her office with its cold gleam. She could see the gouges in the desk's old wood left by previous professors who had likely been grading their students' work or lamenting over their own writing, just as she had been doing of late. "Why on earth did I let you talk me into this, Aemon?" she groaned, sounding wretched even to her own ears.

The dry voice of Dr. Aemon Targaryen filled the room, quiet but commanding. "I talked you into it because you're the right person for the job." Aemon was the Classics department chair, and Brienne owed him a great deal for putting his faith in a young professor and hiring her even before her most prominent publications had come to fruition. This Intro course was really a bridge too far, though, she thought grimly. 

"Yes, but I planned to be doing my own research this month and not holding the hands of bored undergrads." Brienne knew that such an uncharitable assessment was uncalled for, but she'd been neatly maneuvered into teaching the Intro course on behalf of Aemon after a few glasses of wine at Thanksgiving dinner with the Targaryen family. All her later attempts to get out of a tipsy promise to teach it had proved futile.

"I always loved teaching the Intro course!" Aemon exclaimed. "There is nothing like introducing students to a subject that will change their lives, whether they know it or not. You will open a new and mysterious world to them, Brienne."

"I highly doubt that," she groused. He continued on as if he hadn't heard her.

"You must have seen there are a few grad students enrolled, and you'll have a sea of bright minds to instruct as only you can. You are the person best-suited to this task. Your course evaluations are glowing, and you know how rarely *that* happens at a university."

Brienne knew he was buttering her up, but she couldn't help preening a little in response to his praise. The chair of the department was very dear to all of the Classics department faculty, and although she was dragging her feet, she would do anything for the old man. 

"So you're really retiring, then? You're just going to dole out all your classes and leave us?" she asked with a forlorn expression.

"I really am. You'll have me until the end of the year, but then I'm off to Mallorca." He paused. "I've always thought it was too damn cold here in the north." Brienne laughed, thinking of his oft-mentioned complaints about the New York weather.

"But who will keep me sane at department meetings when you're a Professor Emeritus?" she asked.

"I'm sure you'll manage," he said with a small smile. He moved to stand. "I'll leave you then. I wouldn't want to keep you from your new class, Dr. Tarth."

Brienne rolled her eyes, but she got up to cross the space between them in her admittedly cramped office. She offered her hand to him to shake, saying, "I'd like to shake your hand for outmaneuvering me, sir." Chuckling, he reached out to find her hand. He gave it a short, sharp shake and let her go, taking up his cane and moving towards the door with an outstretched hand to keep from bumping into it. Brienne watched him go, making sure he was navigating the hallway alright, which of course he was. He was Aemon Targaryen, after all, and being blind only strengthened the core of steel one could sense behind his kindness. 

She returned to her desk to gather up her binder filled with lecture notes. If anything, this course would help take her mind off the dismal state of her research. All of her leads and various avenues of inquiry were coming up empty at the moment. In short, inspiration was just not coming. She looked at one of her bookshelves that held copies of her own books amongst those of other scholars in her field. The titles stuck out to her, as if taunting her that she was having trouble devising a topic for the first time in her entire life. She was up for a promotion, though, and there was no way she would let a glorified case of writers' block keep her from becoming a full professor at one of the best schools in the country. 

Brienne had worked her ass off and faced a sizable amount of sexism to become a prominent scholar in a field people thought of as being populated with old men with no social skills and the habit of surrounding themselves with dusty books. Well, she did have few social skills, and she did love a good dusty book. She also wore a long, fashionable tweed coat on a regular basis as a small joke to herself about how she was subverting expectations. Thanks to the advice of Margaery Tyrell, the stylish Gender Studies professor, Brienne had recently taken to accentuating her positive attributes such as her statuesque height and curled, shoulder-length blonde hair. No, she wasn't what people expected at all, and she liked that she was learning to turn her unique traits into something that set her apart by design. 

She snorted at her thoughts. It wasn't as if she needed to impress the students of her class with anything other than her teaching acumen and brains, but her newfound interest in fashion gave her a boost of confidence as she faced down the world. Straightening the skirt of her black, 1930’s-style dress with its lacy Peter Pan collar, Brienne clutched the binder of notes in her other hand and moved to walk out the door. It was time to show these students just how breathtaking Ancient Greek History could be.


	2. Aristos Achaion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot of classroom setup. Our favorite characters will be interacting with each other much more in chapters to come...I just couldn't resist having Brienne make a dramatic entrance and hold the room in the palm of her hand. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, liking, and commenting! It means a lot to me :)

****

Slumped in his chair at the back of the classroom, Jaime sipped his morning cup of Starbucks. The classmates sitting around him yawned, and a few even rested their heads on the desks in front of them. It felt ungodly early. A clock above the white board read just past eight-thirty, and he wondered how on earth he was supposed to stay awake during a lecture on something as dry as Ancient Greek History. To add insult to injury, Dr. Tarth was late. Was this a case of an absentminded professor? Would class be held at all? It had better be, Jaime thought. His head ached after his liquor-induced sleep the night before, and his mood soured with each minute that passed. If only the damned class would start, then he could see how deadly dull the rest of Winter Session would be. Jaime lifted his head as the classroom door opened and closed. He wondered if Dr. Tarth had deigned to come and would finally get this show on the road. 

A woman’s voice ringing through the quiet classroom startled Jaime out of his musings.

“Sing, Goddess!” 

The shriek of scraping chairs sounded as everyone jerked their heads around to see what was going on. The voice came from directly behind Jaime. He couldn’t see who it was since he was too close to the speaker to be able to turn. The voice moved past him as its owner walked toward the front of the class. 

She continued.

“Sing, Goddess, of the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, the accursed rage that brought great suffering to the Achaeans.”

The entrance should have been overly dramatic, but the poetic words she flung into the air like bright coins stirred Jaime despite himself. Something about her rich voice imbued the words with an excitement that struck his soul. He felt as if he stood on an ancient battlefield or sat in a great hall listening to a bard sing of heroic deeds. 

This was not going to be the dry and dusty lecture he'd been expecting. 

The woman was magnificently tall, and her hair flowed in pale blond waves to her shoulders. She turned when she reached the front of the class, and it staggered him to see her striking face as she declaimed the ancient words of _The Iliad_ from memory. She wore a shin-length, retro black dress with white accents. The fabric contrasted beautifully with her bright hair and simple yet classic makeup—just a slash of scarlet lipstick across her full lips. She gazed down at the students. Her imposing height, her bearing, and her appearance drew all eyes. This woman’s entire being commanded respect, and Jaime wasn't immune to the feeling. It took nearly a full minute before the hubbub of the students died down. Only then did she speak.

"My name is Dr. Brienne Tarth. Welcome to Introduction to Ancient Greek History. My specialty is the Trojan war and ancient military history. Together, we’ll explore how the Ancient Greeks depicted their world and discuss how that world has survived for centuries in art, literature, and my personal favorite––" she paused. "Weapons."

Jaime gulped and ran his hand over his beard. So this woman was an expert in his own area of study? This was too perfect. He could have hugged Professor Luwin, if that wouldn't have given the stiff older man a heart attack.

Professor Tarth continued. "You're here to learn about the textual and visual forms of expression the Ancient World has to offer." She raised her eyebrows. "Or you're here because every other class was full." 

This comment broke the tension, and quiet laughter filled the room. Jaime laughed along with the other students in a moment of camaraderie. It had been true, hadn't it? After expecting the worst, it turned out to be...this.

"Before I take attendance, who knows the title of the work I quoted?"

A few hands shot into the air. It impressed Jaime that she had the students eating out of her hand within the first few minutes. A young woman who looked so youthful that she must have been a freshman spoke up after Professor Tarth pointed to her. 

"That was _The Iliad_ ," she said confidently.

"Well done,” Tarth said. "And you are...?" 

"Arya Stark."

"And what have you come to learn about, Arya Stark?" she asked.

"I'm also interested in weapons," Arya replied.

Jaime huffed. It seemed he wasn't alone in his purpose of taking the course. He wished now that he'd put his own hand up to answer in case they made the rounds of the room and he sounded as if he didn’t have an original thought. No matter. He'd get the Professor's attention another way.

“I'm sure you all have heard at least a little of Achilles?" Everyone nodded in response to Dr. Tarth’s question. "The Greeks knew him as 'Aristos Achaion,'" she continued. "The 'best of the Greeks.' But does anyone know the name of his sworn companion?"

Jaime found himself alone in reaching his hand into the air. She pointed to him. His mouth went a little dry, and a few butterflies filled his stomach. He cleared his throat. 

"Patroclus," he said.

"Indeed. And what was the nature of the relationship between Patroclus and Achilles?" she prompted.

He thought about the question for a moment before deciding on his words. “It depends on who you ask."

Professor Tarth smiled wryly. "Very true."

Jaime felt a rush of pleasure at her acknowledgment, and he wondered what on earth was wrong with him. He'd never wanted to win over a professor this badly.

"Your colleague leads me to my point," she said. "Throughout history, the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus changed depending on the perspectives and prejudices of the society involved. In Plato and Aristotle's day, they were more than ‘sworn companions.’ They were lovers.” Her eyebrows raised. “However, for medieval Christian writers and others throughout the centuries, they were straight and they were friends. Any hint of a further relationship between them would have strayed from what was acceptable public behavior for men. Today we have books like Madeline Miller’s _The Song of Achilles_ breathing new life into old works and bringing us full circle with their relationship. What do these conflicting opinions tell us?" 

No student raised their hand this time.

After allowing a moment of quiet contemplation, Dr. Tarth spoke. 

“They tell us there is a great deal of complexity in every era’s relationship to the works of the Ancient Greeks. I expect you all to lean into that complexity and to challenge your own knowledge and beliefs. From here on out, we navigate a world that is both familiar and entirely alien." She turned and walked to the white board, saying, "This will be a very collaborative class, and your discussions will culminate in a project. Whether that means a research paper, an exhibit, or something else entirely is up to you.” As she listed their options, she wrote them in large words on the board along with the project's due date.

Jaime felt a stirring of excitement about working on something that combined research with written and hands-on work. He couldn’t say for sure yet what that project would be, but he wanted to excel at whatever he put his mind to for the first time in a long time.

“One thing to look forward to next week,” Dr. Tarth continued, “is a trip into New York City to visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art. They have a wonderful collection of Greek artifacts, and I believe in getting as close to the real thing as humanly possible when it comes to the Ancient World. Seeing the exhibits can bring a whole new dimension to what books and other materials will show you.”

It thrilled Jaime to hear this. He had hoped for a course that would let him get his hands dirty with the physical materials of arms and armor. The professor snagged his attention again as she went over the syllabus in detail, laying out the expectations for the course and the timeline for their readings and quizzes.

"That's all for today,” she said finally. “Stream the 2004 film _Troy_ and read the summary of _The Iliad_ for your assignment this evening. Compare the two to see how popular culture adapts works to its own ends. We’ll talk about your findings tomorrow. Graduate students, please meet me here at the front of the class."

The undergrads stood and shuffled out of the room. They looked much more awake than when they'd come in, and their bright eyes gleamed with inspiration. For his part, Jaime felt like he didn't even need his cup of coffee anymore. Thoughts of the rest of the semester excited him that much. He wondered what the professor wanted with him and the three other students who congregated around her desk.

Dr. Tarth's voice no longer filled the room. Even at normal volume, though, it still held an almost musical appeal to him as she said, "Now then, I am glad to have the four of you in the class, although I expect you to let the undergrads do most of the talking. They need the experience the most. I'd like you to keep the conversation flowing when it flags.” 

They all nodded. It made sense, Jaime thought. Better to let the younger students learn how to form complex answers based on discussion questions rather than have the grad students show off.

"I want you to get as much out of this course as possible since you are graduate students, and Winter Session is quite short. Are you all working on Master's theses?"

The others nodded assent again, but Jaime said "I'm just finishing my doctoral coursework."

"Really," Dr. Tarth said. "Well, you'll be preparing for your comprehensive exams, then. We can devise a topic that will work well for that." 

The fact that she hadn't batted an eye when hearing that he was taking her course as a doctoral student filled him with a sense of gratitude.

“Look through the syllabus and consider what your program requires for your studies while you decide on a topic for your final projects. Once we’ve gone to the museum, I'd like to get coffee with the four of you to talk over how you are progressing. Let’s see if there can be some overlap and collaboration. As for tomorrow, I’ll meet with the four of you individually in my office.” 

Sensing that they were done, the grad students all murmured their assent and began to file toward the classroom door. 

Jaime hung back and let the other students leave, two of them chatting and laughing. They seemed to already know each other. He thought he’d seen them the day before coming out of Goldwin Smith hall that housed the Classics and English departments. They were probably English majors instead of Classics majors since Dr. Tarth hadn’t seemed to know them already. Of the two, the round-bodied man did most of the talking, and the blonde girl seemed to hang on his every word. Jaime wasn't sure what department the third grad student belonged to. He looked exceedingly serious and was dressed in all black. Jaime guessed the man must be a Philosophy major or something similar. How could he look so dour? As far as Jaime was concerned, this day had taken a 180-degree turn from being terrible to being filled with excitement. 

He entered the freezing air outside the Classics building and headed for the library to read over not just the syllabus, but also everything Professor Tarth had ever written.

A large structure of concrete and glass, Olin Library stood before him within a few minutes. Jaime felt a rush of heat on entering, and he rubbed his hands as the air warmed his chilled skin. The fourth floor housed all the books on Greek history, and he took the stairs practically two at a time. He used his phone to look up "Tarth" in the catalog and glanced over the call numbers on each book's spine until he came to the right section. Two books on Ancient Greece by Brienne Tarth and one about the Trojan War stood on the shelves, and he scooped up all of them. He also snagged an old volume nearby written by someone named Selwyn Tarth. He assumed the two authors must be related. 

A cozy graduate carrel with its austere desk and chair beckoned to him next to a window casting wintry light onto the space. Jaime set his bag and books down onto the desk's surface before sinking into the seat and pulling the first book towards him. Cracking open the volume, he began to read. The words practically leapt off the page they were so forthright and evocative. "Good god, she knows how to write," he muttered to himself, feeling as if he’d been punched in a good way. He opened his laptop after skimming the books and pulled up several journal articles. 

Everything he read told him that Dr. Tarth knew her subject inside and out. The syllabus indicated the class sessions would be based around many of the areas she was intimately familiar with. She had written books on practically everything she promised they would work on. The topics included artistic depictions of the Trojan War on pottery, Greek wars as subjects for paintings from later centuries, literary adaptations of _The Iliad_ , ancient battle strategy, and several chapters on ancient weapons. He even found one of her essays alongside one by his father in a collection of papers given at a conference held a few years earlier. His worlds collided as he saw their names side by side in the book's index.

A journal article she had evidently co-authored with one of her graduate students caught Jaime’s attention the most, though. The article by Dr. Tarth and a man named Podrick Payne provided an interesting read all about Ancient Greek weapons and metallurgy. If she was willing to co-author works with her graduate students, then she was unlike any other professor he had known from his previous institutions. Even Luwin, who was a very supportive instructor, probably wouldn't invest the time in working with him to publish something. Or if he did, Jaime would be relegated to a footnote listing him as an assistant to Luwin's research. Perhaps Tarth would work on something with _him_ if he could come up with a suitably impressive topic. Whatever he could possibly devise seemed very exciting all of a sudden.

The small book by Selwyn Tarth indicated from its title that it was on agriculture and peasantry in Ancient Greece. Flipping to the dedication, he read the words: "To my beloved wife Elyria - I will remember you forever. To my daughter Brienne, you continue to be the joy of my life." Wondering if Dr. Tarth’s mother was dead, the inscription made him remember how proud he'd been as a boy to find his name along with Cersei's in the acknowledgments section of Tywin Lannister's famed books. His father had only included Jaime’s brother Tyrion in the most recent inscriptions, and this unfairness had never been lost on him even as a child. Whatever Dr. Tarth had been like as a child, she was now a commanding woman who could compel a roomful of students into enraptured silence. It interested Jaime that, like him, she had followed in her father's footsteps to become a scholar. He wondered if her mother’s death made her want to prove something she couldn’t quite identify, as it also did with him. Instead of continuing work on her father’s humbler subjects, her interests seemed to indicate she’d grown up as a tomboy interested in glory and heroes, with battles and weapons now being her specialty.

Jaime downloaded the journal articles and gathered up his things. He went to the library’s front desk and checked out a small stack of books by both Dr. Brienne and Dr. Selwyn Tarth along with a few others related to the syllabus. He had a much different evening than he’d expected in store for himself tonight since he would be narrowing down a few project topics to discuss with his own Dr. Tarth the next afternoon. It would be a significantly less liquor-fueled night, anyway. Stepping out into the biting air outside the library, he started to trudge home through the white drifts. His loneliness seemed like a faraway thing now, and a smile lingered on Jaime's lips. 

This was going to be fun.


	3. The Understanding Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a shorter chapter, so I'm posting two this week. Thank you again for all the kind words and inspiration!

“For a friend with an understanding heart is worth no less than a brother” - Homer, _The Odyssey_

"Sarpedon! Briseis! Dinner!" Brienne stood in her kitchen, stirring tomato sauce in a small saucepan on the oven. Fog from the warm room steamed up the windows that still bore the twinkling white lights she'd put up for the holidays. Framed _Vogue_ prints from the early twentieth century hung on the cobalt-colored walls, each piece of artwork contrasting with the large white farmhouse sink she adored. Brienne wasn't much of a cook, but being in her kitchen made her feel as happy as if she were wrapped up in a cozy blanket. 

She called once more for the two Abyssinian cats who ruled the roost in her home. The pair came slinking in, their sleek russet lines accompanied by pointed ears and long tails. Their golden eyes scanned the room, and they trotted directly to their food bowl before she'd even had the chance to turn from her cooking to feed them. Finding it empty, wailing meows filled the air from Briseis, and Sarpedon butted his head firmly against her calf. Brienne bent down to stroke Briseis. "Alright then, little one. Here's your dinner." After dropping their food into a blue dish next to her refrigerator, she opened a cupboard to take out a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She surveyed the bossy cats on the floor and the glass of merlot in her hand for a moment before muttering, "Margaery was right. I've become a cat lady." There were worse things, she decided.

Brienne carried a bowl of pasta drenched in the rich sauce into the living room where a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. A large coat of arms above the fireplace decorated the cheerful marigold-yellow walls. It bore the Tarth family's sigil: crescent moons, starbursts, and a giant sun in the middle of the shield. Setting her dinner down on the coffee table, she flopped limply onto her blue velvet sofa. It had been a long day filled with teaching, lesson-planning, and then later going to the gym to work out all the aggression she felt towards her nonexistent book manuscript. Brienne pulled out her laptop and opened her document to where she'd left off the night before. Having determined to write a few thousand words before she went to bed, she started to try her hand at outlining a chapter or two. 

Nothing happened. 

The only thing that she dragged from her fingers were dribbles of words in fits and starts. She cursed her writer's block loudly to both the room and the cats curled up next to her. If only she didn't have a promotion opportunity coming up. The old adage of "Publish or Perish" wasn't necessarily true, but it wasn't necessarily false either. Everything would be much easier if she had another book in the works. She already had tenure at a remarkably young age, but a full Professorship would be in the bag if she could manage to come up with something for an editor to approve.

Taking a break, she began to sip a second glass of wine and ran through the events of the day, starting with her Intro class. She hated to admit it, but Aemon was right. There were several bright minds in the classroom that would make the course a delight to teach. Many of them hadn't even had an opportunity to speak yet and she thought of the ones who had answered her questions. Apparently the Stark freshman was a woman after her own heart with her love of weapons. And Jaime Lannister had been no slouch, either, although she would expect nothing less of a Ph.D. student at the university--let alone one who was the son of Tywin Lannister.  


Brienne was familiar with Tywin's work. They were even slightly acquainted with each other, having been on a panel at a conference together a few years earlier. She'd had a word with Aemon after this first class that had confirmed her suspicions of who his son was. It hadn't been that hard to figure out after hearing his name and seeing that golden hair. 

She'd have to think of some way to keep him occupied so the class sessions wouldn't be too slow for him. Perhaps he could serve as an unofficial Teaching Assistant? It bore some thinking on, but it might be a good compromise, she thought. He could get experience doing some of the grading, and she would let go of the reins and allow him to teach a class session or two. Brienne would normally hate to give up even a bit of class time. She could admit to herself that she was a bit of a control freak. However, she was intrigued and gratified that Lannister wasn't lording his knowledge over the other students. 

A chime sounded through the air, and Brienne glanced down at her laptop screen. Margaery Tyrell's name popped up on the bottom of the screen in her messenger app. 

She read the first message and smiled.

_Hello! How was your first day back?_

_Class was just fine. Thanks for asking. It was the gym that really killed me today, though_

_You poor dear. How are you recovering?_

_A glass of wine is making everything better_

_I think I should come over and help you finish the bottle..._

Brienne laughed before typing out an official invitation to the woman who lived just down the street. The two had passed each other for several weeks at the beginning of the school year before Margaery introduced herself as the new Gender Studies professor. It was only a few months later, but she was now one of Brienne's closest friends.

It was only five minutes until she opened her door to the other woman. Margaery removed her coat and scarf and hung them up before languidly resting on the sofa and pulling her legs up under her. Her movements were a stark contrast to her host's. Brienne simply dropped into her seat and then kicked her feet up on the coffee table with her usual bluntness. The two couldn't have been more different in looks, mannerisms, and bearing, but their contrasts worked to keep the friendship interesting. Margaery took up the wineglass Brienne offered her, swirled it, and gave Brienne one of her characteristic smiles that quirked up one side of her mouth.

"So what's new with you? I haven't seen you since I went away for the Christmas holiday," Margaery said.

"Nothing new to speak of, I'm afraid. The Targaryens had me over for Christmas Eve dinner, and I stayed here alone with the cats for Christmas day. Mostly, I spent a lot of time trying to get my thoughts down on paper."

"How did that work out?"

"Terribly," Brienne moaned, resting her head on the back of the sofa. Normally she wouldn't be so dramatic, but Margaery was good at bringing out the theatricality in everyone around her.

"You'll get there," Margaery said as she rested her head on Brienne's shoulder for a moment. "I have complete faith in you." She straightened then paused. "Let's change the subject then, shall we? Are you still angry that Dr. Targaryen hoodwinked you into teaching his Intro course?"

Brienne snorted. "Hoodwinked? That's exactly what he did. But no, I'm perfectly content with the course."

"What changed your mind, if I may ask?"

"I seem to have a good crop of students this semester."

"Did you do the dramatic entrance I suggested?" Margaery asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Brienne admitted, "and it was a huge success."

"I knew it! So what are these paragons of students like, exactly?"

"They're very inquisitive," Brienne said slowly. "And there's one who will be delightful, I can tell. Arya Stark."

"Hm. There's a whole passel of Starks at this school. Their father was on the board of trustees for a while, I think. I have Sansa Stark as an advisee, and she's quite delightful."

"I haven't had one in my classes before, but Arya seems less sweet than absolutely fierce. She spoke right up even though she must be the youngest in the classroom. Then there are four grad students. One is a Ph.D. student who's auditing."

"Auditing an Intro class? Who drew the short end of the straw with their advisor to have to do that?" Margaery asked.

Brienne hesitated. "Jaime Lannister," she said finally.

Margaery harrumphed. "I had a Lannister in one of my Fall classes. She was an absolute nightmare. Sandra? Cybil?" 

"Cersei," Brienne filled in, smiling at Margaery's mild cattiness. "I remember you talking about your mutual dislike...at length."

"Yes, that's the one. They must be siblings. Is he an insufferable know-it-all like she was?"

Brienne thought for a moment before saying, "No. He wasn't humble, exactly, but he certainly didn't challenge me as it sounds like she did with you." 

Margaery leaned her own head back against the sofa. "Well, Cersei was the worst. Don't get me wrong, she was very intelligent but spiteful almost."

"She must take after their father more than her brother. He had more in the way of confidence than the other students, but that likely comes from being the best at whatever he's set his mind to. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't good at what he does. Their father, Tywin Lannister, is quite the expert in battle strategy through the ages. He's an absolute tyrant in the classroom, though, I hear."

"A tyrant? No wonder Cersei turned out the way she did. Maybe she's trying to emulate him. What's his son like, then?"

"Smart, if one class session is anything to go off of. He knows the basics of the Trojan War, at least."

"No wonder he's a favorite of yours!" Margaery exclaimed.

Brienne huffed. "Not a favorite. Not yet, anyway. We have our first meeting together tomorrow. I'm curious to see what sort of a project he comes up with." She paused. "I was thinking of making him my unofficial assistant for the course."

"Really?" Margaery said. Brienne watched her perk up with curiosity at the information.

"Really. Professor Luwin from the History department sent me an email a few days ago asking me to keep an eye out for him. I like Luwin, and I definitely take it into consideration if he vouches for a student," Brienne said thoughtfully.

"Keep me posted. I want to know how it works out."

The two continued to chat about their first day back. Margaery was teaching a course on Gender and Fashion. It had been her idea of taking her class to visit the Fashion Institute of Technology that had inspired Brienne to take her own class to New York City. The Institute celebrated its 50th anniversary that year, and she was a little jealous that Margaery would be seeing the designs and displays of fabulous clothing. 

When she expressed this jealousy, Margaery said, "You could always come with me."

"I need to stay here and finish this manuscript. I'm denying myself all pleasures until I'm done with a few chapters."

Margaery looked pointedly at Brienne's wineglass.

"Alright. I'm denying myself most pleasures."

The two shared photos they'd each taken of the winter landscape and Christmas celebrations. Next, they moved on to Pinterest boards of the exhibits they hoped to see on their respective field trips. Margaery broke the conversation on course-planning to ask, "Did you meet anyone while I was away? I know you like to work on your writing over at the Carriage House Cafe. Any cute professors or administrators come through?"

"Ugh," Brienne said dully. "No. Not a one. The only person who stopped by was Tormund from Archaeology. I have a feeling he only stopped by because he knew I'd be there so he could keep on sending me longing glances." 

"Really? But that sounds perfect for you! Aren't your interests close enough to make it worth giving him a shot?" Margaery paused. "Is he too short or too old for you or something?" 

Brienne shook her head. "He's not that much shorter than me, and we're of a similar age. He seems like a good man, but you know how I'd much rather be single and focus on my work right now. Besides, last time we talked he said he was a dog person." Brienne glowered at that thought and stroked Sarpedon's head, who gave a sleepy purr. 

"Heathen," she muttered.

"Well that's off the table, then," Margaery said.

Brienne turned the question around, asking, "What about you? Have you met the right one yet?"

Margaery shrugged and gave Brienne her mysterious half-smile. She was well-known by both of them to be a serial dater. She always thought a man was perfect, but he inevitably turned out to have some kind of fatal flaw. Then she'd turn to another one, but he would have some other undesirable traits. On it went for as long as Brienne had known her. Margaery pushed Brienne's shoulder slightly. 

"Nice try, switching the subject onto me. The answer is no, although my grandmother tried to set me up with another one of her acquaintances' younger sons. She's convinced I need to hurry along from dating to marriage to having some grandchildren and continuing the Tyrell dynasty." She rolled her eyes. "Because my grandmother being obsessed with my sex life isn't awkward at all..."

Brienne laughed again. They could not be more different in regards to family. Margaery had Loras and a good portion of the other denizens of the city of Highgarden in her family. Brienne came from an extremely small town on the other side of the coast. Her only living relation was her father, who still lived there in her childhood home next to the sea. He doted on Brienne. He'd also doted on Brienne's mother while she had lived. Now he was always holed up in his study and focused on his books. They didn't see each other often, though not for lack of trying. Brienne's schedule was always busy with teaching and research.  


When she thought about it, it seemed like time was slipping by like grains of sand through her fingers. She wasn't lonely exactly, she admonished herself. And she was certainly comfortable with being a successful single woman. Brienne wasn't opposed to dating, but she didn't seek out relationships. Sometimes she wondered if there was any man who would be the right one for her. Margaery's attempts to set her up with all and sundry notwithstanding. Her thoughts were taking a slightly somber turn, and she decided she'd had a little too much wine for the night. It was hard to pull herself away from the roaring fire and the good company, but class came early the next morning.

"I hate to say it, Margaery, but I might be done for the night. Would you like me to walk you home?"

Margaery tilted back her glass and drank the last of her wine before getting to her feet. "No need, but thank you for offering."

They hugged lightly, and Margaery began the long process of bundling herself back up against the cold. 

"Good luck with your grad students tomorrow. Watch out for that Lannister, though. Their family symbol is the lion, and I wouldn't want your fingers to get bitten if he turns out to be like his sister or his father."

Brienne nodded. "Good night, Margaery." A moment later it was just Brienne and the two sleepy Abyssinians. Resisting the urge to just curl up on the couch with them, she watched the dying fire for a few moments before climbing the stairs and then climbing into her cold bed. She drifted off to the sound of a bell chiming in the distance, its sound carrying through the silent, snowy air as it signaled the start of a new day.


	4. A Brave Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So happy these two are talking to each other. Finally! ;)  
> I know it's been a slow burn so far, but it's a hop, skip, and a jump from a formal meeting to their feelings growing for each other.
> 
> Also, two more chapters will go up this week because I can't control myself...

“No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.” - Homer, _The Iliad_

Perfecting his best slouch as he leaned up against a wall, Jaime waited next to Dr. Luwin's door for one of his fellow grad students to finish talking with his advisor. The pose belied his true feelings, which were closer to a buzzing excitement mixed with nervousness. Those were two emotions he hadn't felt in quite some time. It had been a few hours since the Intro class had met for the second day, and he wanted to talk with Luwin while he waited for his appointment that afternoon with Dr. Tarth. She would soon approve or reject his idea for a Winter Session project, and a need to prove he was the best in the class rose within him. His talent had carried him far, but he still had something to prove to himself as much as to others. A few pieces of paper with notes he’d written the night before rattled around in his messenger bag along with his laptop, and he felt he had the right amount of ammunition to lobby for his ideas. 

Luwin's door opened wider, and an advisee exited the room. It was Ramsay Bolton, a fellow grad student in the department. Jaime didn't get along with him very well. Bolton studied kingly succession and the importance of the hunt to medieval society. However, no matter how many classes they took together, they had never bonded over their shared interest in that era. There was something about Ramsay that put Jaime off, and the two maintained a distance from each other. The man seemed perfectly charming and amiable to all around him, but Jaime had the sense that something ugly lurked beneath the surface of his placid exterior. Ramsay acknowledged him with a nod and a sardonic smile before slinking down the hallway. 

“Come in,” Luwin called from inside his office. Jaime entered and took a seat in front of the professor's desk. 

"What can I do for you, Mr. Lannister?" Luwin asked in his usual grave tone, although he smiled slightly as he amended, "Or should I say, how are you liking your new class?"

Jaime thought about his response for a moment. He didn't want to seem like he was gushing over his new teacher, but it had been another inspirational class session that morning. Tarth didn't just lecture at her students like Pycelle, or even as Luwin was known to do. Instead, she cajoled even the most reluctant student to say a few words about the film they'd watched the night before as well as to say something about the assigned readings. It had been like watching a swordsman parry and thrust as she verbally sparred with the undergrads, giving them encouragement or gently challenging them to keep everyone on their toes. The grad students rarely had to interject to keep the conversation's momentum going, but he'd made a few points he was pleased with that also made Dr. Tarth nod. 

He didn't want to keep Luwin waiting, so he gave one of his cocky grins and said, "I see that it might not be so bad to take an Intro course once in a while. I bow to your greater experience. To be honest, I'm glad you advised me to take it."

Luwin gave a dry chuckle. "I take it you are enjoying Dr. Tarth's lectures." He gave Jaime a canny look. "She tends to surprise people who underestimate her."

Jaime winced inwardly. He _had_ underestimated her, and he could bet that others in the past had as well. But he didn't think she needed him to defend her. Anyone with half a brain could see she was ten times the professor most of the faculty he'd met in his time at the University had been. 

His advisor looked at his computer screen, saying, "She emailed me about you, you know. I'll let her tell you herself about what she would like you to do for her class, but you must have made a good impression."

Jaime's grin grew wider. So she had noticed that he was making an effort. His confidence might border on arrogance, but he knew he was good at whatever he set his mind to. He wondered what the meeting with her had in store for him. 

Luwin looked at him expectantly. "Anything else, Mr. Lannister?"

"That's all. I just stopped by to say thank you."

Luwin looked surprised but pleased. "You're quite welcome. Don't forget that Dr. Tarth may be a good candidate for your committee, so keep up the good work."

Jaime nodded before standing up and taking his leave. It was only a short walk from McGraw Hall that housed the History department over to Goldwin Smith Hall that housed Classics. Banks of shoveled snow glinted in the morning sunlight. Despite the bright rays, the wind bit into him, and he hurried to the hall's front doors. Stamping the snow from his boots, he found a secluded alcove to spend the next few minutes in before his appointment. A stray thought made him pull out his laptop, and he looked up the website for the Metropolitan Museum of Art since they would probably talk about the upcoming class trip there. 

He read about how for over a hundred years curators had built up the arms and armor collection, and how it now made up a massive assortment of almost 14,000 pieces. Many of those pieces were the swords he delighted in, coming from all over the world. He'd been to the Museum once before when he'd gone sightseeing with Cersei. She hadn't been terribly excited by anything on display, though, in one of the few instances where they didn't agree on something. He wondered, with no small amount of excitement, what they would have on display and just how close he'd be able to get to the weapons that inspired him.

It was his turn to meet with Dr. Tarth, and he searched out her office. He found the door number and looked at the door curiously. A large poster encouraging students to study abroad in Greece covered Tarth’s door surrounded by postcards of ruins and antiquities. The images made her passion for her subject apparent. The door swung open unexpectedly, and Jaime stepped back to avoid it smashing into his face. A broken nose wasn’t exactly the impression he wanted to make. One of his fellow grad students from the Intro class exited the room. He was clad once more in all black, and he sent a melancholy look Jaime’s way as he walked past. Jaime wondered if Dr. Tarth was particularly tough on her students or if the man always looked that way. He would be finding out in a moment. 

Gathering his courage, Jaime leaned around the edge of the half-open door and knocked. Unlike Luwin's monastic cell of an office, Tarth’s looked like a stereotypical academic’s office in that it was crammed to the gills with overflowing books and papers. They covered every surface, and Dr. Tarth sat at her desk with a large pile of books to one side of her and a computer monitor to the other side. A fashionable tweed coat hung up on a coatrack. He hung his own camel-colored one next to it, revealing the grey sweater he knew looked particularly good with his blonde hair. So I want to make a good impression, he thought. That's not weird.

She looked up and stood, saying. “Come in and sit down, Mr. Lannister.” 

Tarth loomed over him, as she did with all of her students. He didn’t let it bother him as it might for other men. Pulling the chair back, he did as she bid and settled himself before her scarred wooden desk. Tarth sat as well. Pale light streamed through the window behind her, making her hair gleam, and the blue blouse she wore brought out the color of her eyes. Her beauty at that moment was unconventional but striking. Attractive qualities about his professor weren’t the sort of thing he was supposed to notice, though, so he quickly put the thought out of his mind.

“Before we talk about your ideas for your final project, I have a proposition for you.” He nodded, and she paused before saying, “You are the only doctoral student in the class, and I’d like to put that to use. Would you be interested in being an unofficial Teaching Assistant? You would teach one or two class sessions and help me to coordinate the upcoming extra credit trip to the museum. Your advisor agreed you would be suited to the task, and it would give you more experience to list on your CV than you would otherwise have if you were just attending lectures.”

Jaime tried not to stare. He’d had a few ideas of what she might like him to do, but this was more than he’d hoped for. Some TA’s he’d heard about were only allowed to take attendance or they graded all the papers a professor didn’t want to deal with and led review sessions.

“I’d be delighted to do that,” he said.

Tarth gave a short nod. “Good, that’s settled. We can coordinate about the field trip over the next few days via email.” She continued, “Now then, what are you thinking of for your final project?”

He leaned forward and projected his best air of confidence. He didn't want it to come across as arrogance, as he'd sometimes been accused of, but he cared about this project too much to mince words. “I’m interested in swords. Specifically, I want to do a dissertation on how ancient swords transitioned into medieval designs.” 

Tarth frowned slightly. “You’re in your second year? There’s no need to settle on a dissertation topic just yet unless you’re really committed to it. You might change your mind after your comprehensive exams.” 

He looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m committed. Swords are all I’ve ever wanted to work on. I was hoping to begin that work with this final project. It’s the perfect opportunity to study ancient swords and combat techniques. I don’t know these Greek weapons nearly as well as medieval long-swords and short-swords, and I’m very comfortable working with those.”

Tarth leaned back in her chair. She seemed to be thinking about his proposal. 

“I know you yourself have a love of weapons, as you mentioned,” Jaime commented. He hoped their kinship in that regard would sway her to his cause. Luwin’s words that he should try to get her on his committee edged into his mind. There was a lot riding on her approval of this idea. 

“Very well,” she said slowly. She turned to face her computer screen and began typing. As she did so, she said, "If ancient swords are what you're interested in, then you should take a look at some physical examples of them. This pair of swords from the Met Museum will probably be to your liking. Have a look for a moment.” She turned the computer monitor at an angle so they could both see what was on the screen.

He tried to ignore how the scent of lilacs and what might be apple blossom drifted toward him from her side of the desk as she leaned forward. It was clean and not overpowering, sophisticated yet simple. The scent was as unexpected as she was. Dr. Tarth was talking, so Jaime quickly tuned in to what she was saying.

“You can see some examples of Ancient Greek swords here on their website.” 

Jaime’s head snapped to attention, and he looked at the blades. They were slimmer than a medieval blade and slightly curved. 

Tarth pointed her finger to one of the swords, saying, “This is a machaira or a kopis. These weapons became a part of Greek weaponry in the late sixth century BCE. The two examples you see here are from a century or two after their introduction into Greek warfare. It’s almost two feet long and only weighs about a pound and a half, if you can believe it.”

She turned to look at him. “Any idea how it would be used?”

Jaime thought for a moment before suggesting, “It seems like it would be a particularly good weapon to use to strike from above." 

"How so? she asked." 

He enjoyed her questions that pushed and tested him. 

"With that curve to it, it might be better for slashing than thrusting like a soldier would do on the ground,” he said.

“Exactly. You could use one of these to deliver a sharp blow from the back of a horse,” Tarth replied. “The philosopher and mercenary Xenophon of Athens recommended the machaira for just that. If they interest you, perhaps you could use these blades as a case study to discuss strategies of attack, how ancient swords were used, and how they were produced.”

How they were produced! Jaime thought quickly about how her words would work to his advantage. He hesitated then pushed forward towards what he really wanted.

“These aren’t steel, I’m guessing?” 

“You’re correct. They’re iron.”

“It may be beyond the scope of the project you’re asking for, but more than anything I would like to be particularly hand-on with this idea.” 

“Go on,” she said with an inscrutable expression. He remembered how she’d said on the first day of class that she’d like them to be hands-on with Ancient Greek history, though, and he continued. 

“I hoped to head over to Rochester to work with the artists' colony there. They have a swordsmith working for them, and I’d like to get my hands dirty and see what it’s like to forge a weapon. If I’m really going to understand swords, that would be a good way to get a behind-the-scenes view of them.”

Tarth gave nothing away as she continued to assess him for a long moment.

Jaime mentally crossed his fingers, hoping she’d say yes. If she did, he might be able to hold an actual sword in his hands--perhaps even one he had made himself. 

Finally, Tarth smiled a conspiratorial smile. 

"I think we can accommodate that," she said. His heart leapt as she continued, “I’m impressed, not to mention fascinated with this idea. None of my students, including my grad students, have ever proposed anything like it. Who is the swordsmith, out of curiostiy?”

“Gendry Waters at The Three Dragons Forge. He's supposedly our age, but he’s becoming well-known for his ability to recreate historic weapons and armor.” Jaime realized he’d forgotten himself for a moment, and he hoped she didn’t take it as disrespect to point out the similarities in their ages. On the contrary, he respected her for climbing the ladder to be an Assistant Professor while he was still slogging away through grad school a few years behind her.

She didn’t seem to mind, though. All she said was, “Excellent. We can discuss the finer points of the project after visiting the museum next week. Anything else you’d like to talk about?”

Jaime had a bizarre urge to ask Tarth about herself and how she had pushed past people’s expectations of her and past their doubts about whether or not she really wanted to write and publish on weapons. Where had she gotten her drive to study such instruments, having grown up with a father who was interested in the more humble aspects of the field? He bit those questions back and merely said, “Nothing I can think of,” which was of course a lie. He realized he wanted to know everything about her. 

She granted him a small smile and said, “Until tomorrow, then.”

He nodded, leaving the room with a heart bursting from a sense of elation. He had a feeling that few things could top this feeling of having riden into battle only to come out victorious.

Outside the door, he spotted the large, bearded man from class and the pretty woman next to him. The pair were holding hands, and he had the distinct impression they’d been making cow eyes at each other while he’d been in Tarth’s office. He cleared his throat, intending to say hello. He might as well get to know the other grad students, he thought.

Before he could even open his mouth, the man said, “Hello! You must be Jaime Lannister. I’m Sam, and this is Gilly. We’re both from the English department.” 

Jaime got the sense that Sam was going to be chattier than anyone he’d ever met in his life. He decided to be nicer than he usually was. The two seemed to mean well, after all. 

“Nice to meet you," he said. "What are you two proposing for your topics?” 

As expected, Sam began to speak first. “I’m hoping to create and edit an anthology of ancient writings on monsters. They seem like they’d be metaphors for other concerns, since monsters don’t exist of course.”

“Of course.”

Gilly was quieter, but she piped up with, “I’m not interested in writing about heroes. I’m designing an exhibit about peasants and everyday workers in ancient literature.” She paused. “It would be a lot easier if someone hadn’t checked out Selwyn Tarth’s book on agriculture and the peasantry from the library, though.

Jaime tried desperately not to blush or give away that he himself had checked it out. He told himself there was nothing strange about having borrowed the book. Even still, he resolved to return it straight away. “I’m sure it will turn up soon,” he said vaguely. “Any idea who the other grad student in our little cohort would be? You know, the one who's always in black and looked like someone kicked a puppy?”

Sam nodded. “Oh, yes! That’s Jon. He’s a philosophy major. Good guy, if a little gloomy. We've been friends for quite some time. I think he was going to write a basic research paper on the transition from Cynicism to Stoicism. Very traditional, our Jon. Not too imaginative, but like I said, he’s a good guy.”

“I bet,” Jaime smiled. He felt a small sense of satisfaction that he’d pegged the three with their fields of study. 

“Come in, Mr. Tarly,” Dr. Tarth called from behind her office door. 

“Well, that’s me, then!” Sam exclaimed. “Nice to meet you officially, Jaime.”

“You as well, Sam.” Jaime gave him a wave as Sam stepped through the door.

He turned to Gilly, who eyed him. “Don’t forget to return that book,” she said.

Jaime groaned inwardly. So he _had_ given away that he had it. Gilly was much more perceptive than she let on. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he said with a touch of embarrassment before turning away and making his way down the hall toward the stairs. As he walked, he regained his sense of glee that his plans were coming to fruition. If he played his cards right, then publication might not be far away. 

Even more importantly, with Dr. Tarth on his side, he was one step closer to a finished dissertation. He’d be able to show his father, his professors, and anyone else who had ever doubted him that he was the best there was at what he'd set his mind to do. There was a lot of work ahead of him, but Jaime walked out the door of the Classics building and into the frigid air with determination in his stride and a song in his heart.


	5. Terrible Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't wait until Saturday to post a few more chapters, especially now that our heroes are spending time with each other ;)
> 
> Here's a picture of Jaime's machaira held at the Met:  
> [Ancient Greek Sword](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/257576)

"Beauty! Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess-- so she strikes our eyes!” Homer, _The Iliad_

\--------

The January wind cut Jaime's cheeks like knives as he strode toward the campus from the coffee shop outside his apartment. Spring seemed very far away at the moment, but that feeling was deceptive for it surprised him how quickly the first and second week of Winter Session had raced by. Morning dawned on the second Saturday of the month before he even realized it. It didn't hurt that his unofficial TA duties kept him busier than he normally would have been, and he enjoyed working on the tasks Dr. Tarth assigned to him. He took charge of organizing various aspects of the course from giving small groups of students aid on course materials outside of class to coordinating with the Met Museum for the extra credit trip. Even his time at the apartment moved by at a faster clip since he read books in anticipation of his own lecture as well as his final project. He still hadn't decided on a lecture topic, a fact that made him nervous. Perhaps Dr. Tarth could give him some advice on the subject, he thought.

Dr. Tarth kept class sessions nice and brisk throughout the second week, although not so brisk as to confuse the freshmen, some of whom had only taken a handful of courses before her own Intro to Ancient Greek History. He got to know many of the students at a review session before a quiz held the previous day. Arya Stark was clearly the firebrand of the class who seemed far too self-possessed for being a new student and being as young as she was. She constantly surprised him with a quick wit and ready answers as if she'd trained her whole life on the subject, just as she had demonstrated on the first day. Stark would make a fantastic scholar if she set her mind to it, he thought.

Then there was Theon Greyjoy, a jock who thought a lot of himself and his abilities––probably more than he should have. Joffrey Baratheon was an entitled little shit, to say the least. His father was the current president of the university, although rumor had it that several Targaryen family members were gunning for the position. Robyn Arryn seemed a little...weird...and way too interested in talking about his mom. Then there was Missandei Naath who excelled in talking about diplomacy and linguistic complexities. She studied Communications, and he had a feeling she would go far in that field. It was well-known that she already had a job lined up working for Daenerys Targaryen's international business empire.

Most of the students planned to attend the highly anticipated field trip to the Met Museum taking place that afternoon. Everyone going had signed up to carpool from Ithaca to New York City, a trip that would take around four hours. Jaime made the reservations then coordinated with Dr. Tarth to get everything set up for their visit. His professor was delightful to work with, and it made everything much more interesting than it could have been. They had met in her office the preceding afternoon to talk over details, and he ran through the brief conversation with her in his mind.

"If I may ask, what are you most excited to see, Dr. Tarth?"

She thought for a moment. "I plan to look at the Monteleone Chariot. It's an ancient piece whose artists covered it with scenes of the life of Achilles."

"That sounds great. I'll have to check it out."

"And you, Mr. Lannister? What are you most looking forward to?"

What was he looking forward to? He was looking forward to spending more one-on-one time with his professor. He knew they were interested in seeing the same things. It wasn't unheard of that they'd be in very close proximity to each other. He very much hoped they would be.

Throughout much of the week, Dr. Tarth sprinkled in information during the Intro class about what they would see at the Met Museum. It sounded like there would be a number of vases and pottery fragments depicting scenes of everyday life in Ancient Greece among other antiquities. Pictures of the collection on the Met's website only whetted everyone's appetites for seeing the artifacts in person. The vases and everyday objects like perfume vials and mosaic bowls would be the perfect complement to Gilly's project. Jaime, on the other hand, couldn't wait to see the Arms and Armor room that held everything from Stone Age weapons to 19th century firearms. He knew that being in close proximity to the machaira would be just as exciting as seeing the other items in the vast Met collection. He had the distinct impression Dr. Tarth looked forward to seeing the weapons exhibit just as much as he did since she'd mentioned the collection more than a few times and encouraged the students to visit it. 

Jaime increased his speed as he moved towards the parking lot they'd chosen as a meeting place. It wouldn't do to be late to the event he'd been instrumental in setting up. Cars left at 8am in anticipation of getting to the museum at noon. They would all spend four hours there and would make it back to Ithaca by 8pm that evening. The small cohort of graduate students decided to drive together in Sam's car after a very short deliberation after the previous day's class. As Jaime approached the lot, he noticed his companions standing around an extremely compact Honda. It looked like it would be a tight fit on this ride. 

A small figure who he could have sworn was Arya Stark walked up to Jon Snow, who was predictably dressed in all black, and leaped up to squeeze him around the neck in a hug. The gesture surprised Jaime, although Snow hugged her back just as tightly before she scampered off to her own car. Jaime hefted the cardboard cup carrier that held four coffees and offered them to the trio of grad students in front of him. "I brought these just in case you weren't caffeinated," he said. Sam and Gilly gave a small cheer while Jon nodded his thanks. 

The quartet climbed into the car. As Jaime hoped, Gilly called shotgun and he snagged the seat behind her so he could stretch out his legs. Snow would just have to be stuck behind Sam. It seemed like a fair trade for the cup of coffee, he reasoned with himself. Besides, Jon seemed like the stoic type and would probably prefer to suffer in silence. "I'll just turn the heater on, and we'll be off," Sam exclaimed cheerfully. Gilly started asking Sam about something related to an English assignment, and Jaime turned to Jon. Striking up a conversation seemed like the friendly thing to do. He hoped he wouldn't get his hand bitten off for his trouble. Wolves and lions didn't tend to get along.

"What's your relationship to Arya Stark? I never expected to see her hugging anyone." He considered for a moment. "Maybe stabbing someone who got too close, but not hugging them." 

"She's my sister," Jon muttered. 

"I didn't know you had any siblings, Snow." To be fair, Jaime didn't really know anything at all about the younger man, besides that his classmates tended to swoon around him. Jaime could admit Snow was good-looking in a way completely opposite to himself. Wavy dark hair and soulful eyes contrasted with Jaime's gold hair and clear gaze. Only the day before, he'd overheard someone in a nearby seat whisper, "I wouldn't mind being in a Jonme sandwich," as he'd handed an assignment back to Snow. The tips of Jon's ears had gone red, but Jaime shook it off. He was used to undergrads pining over him. Fortunately or unfortunately, he had little interest in any of them. He liked commanding women, and he tried not to think of who his ideal commanding woman would be. He had a bad feeling she was tall, blonde, and usually stood at the front of the class. 

"We have different mothers, but I grew up with the Starks," Jon said. The words brought Jaime back to himself. It sounded like he'd pulled an unwilling confession out of the other man.

"Do you still see your mother?" he asked. 

"No. I don't. Can we talk about something else?" Snow asked with a note of finality in his voice. It wasn't a request.

Sam picked up on the awkward tone of their conversation and quickly turned it around. "You have siblings, don't you Jaime? What are they doing for Winter Session?"

Jaime felt a flush of pride as he said, "My twin sister Cersei is getting ready to work on an Independent Study with Dr. Qyburn in the Political Science department." He laughed at the thought. "She's going to eat him alive."

Sam laughed along a little nervously. "She sounds like quite a woman."

"Oh, she is. I've never known anyone fiercer. She's definitely a Lannister lion."

Gilly chimed in, asking, "And your brother?"

"Tyrion is different. He's taking a year off to travel, but he's just as sharp as Cersei. Maybe even sharper. To be quite honest, he's kinder and more charismatic than the rest of us in the family. I don't know where he gets it from."

They lapsed into an early-morning silence soon after that. Sam couldn't help himself when it came to talking, though, and before long he began to rattle on mostly to himself. Jon looked out the window with a very serious, slightly mournful expression on his face. Gilly began to complain that she wanted to listen to the radio. Unfortunately, Sam had an audio book of _Call of the Wild_ and _White Fang_ playing, and he was giving commentary on Jack London’s life and works over the top of it.

After a few hours of the cacophony, Jaime began to feel like he might actually be losing the will to live. He resisted the urge to knock his head against the window. It will all be worth it for the swords, he thought. Surely, it would all be worth it. He looked out the window at the snow-covered fields rushing by and felt his heart fill with anticipation for the afternoon to come.

\----------

"I think your GPS is broken. I’m sure we take the next exit, not this one." Margaery's voice rose over the strains of Julien Baker's mournful singing as Brienne took the exit with a determined expression on her face.

"It's this one. I haven't been to the city that often, but I do know how to get to the Met. Have faith!" Brienne exclaimed.

"Oh, alright. I have to take a car to get to Loras's apartment anyway." Margaery intended to visit her brother and his boyfriend for the afternoon, so she'd hitched a ride with Brienne. The Tyrells were loaded enough for Margaery's brother to have his own chic apartment in a trendy neighborhood, although Brienne didn't envy the family for their posh surroundings. Margaery's job as a professor made her an outlier in the family, and the two had spoken at length on the car ride about the Tyrell matriarch's latest scheme to see Margaery wedded to some socialite or other. No thank you, Brienne thought to herself. She liked her life just the way it was--focused on her work with her cats and a few friends to keep her company.

"You could always come to the Met Museum with me," Brienne said. "Didn't you just see Loras and Renly at Christmas?"

"Yes, but I promised to grab lunch and see a show with them. Besides, you'll want to focus on your class. Are you lecturing or letting a tour guide do all the running around?" 

"Definitely lecturing. That's half the fun of this kind of thing."

"How many of your little sparrows came along on the trip?"

"A good number of them. I'll be meeting the students in one of the galleries before we go to the Greek and Roman wing. My TA set it up with the museum’s administration, and so far everything has gone off without a hitch."

"Ah yes, how is your teaching assistant faring? Everything you'd hoped he would be?" Margaery had a small smile on her face that Brienne couldn't quite interpret.

"He's just fine. Gets the job done admirably."

"Admirably? You don't say."

"What?" Brienne asked with no small amount of suspicion.

"I only wondered what his character was like."

"That sounds very Jane Austen of you."

"Oh, you know what I mean. I'm curious. Did he turn out to be like his sister? Do your interests align? How does he feel about a woman as his professor?

"How should I know how he feels about me? I'm not one of your case studies, you know," Brienne said shortly. "Just because he's a man and I'm a woman doesn't mean there's any kind of weird power dynamic."

"You're right. I apologize. I'll keep my questions to myself." Margaery made a zipping-her-lips motion.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Brienne grudgingly said, "We do share the same interests. I've never met anyone who loves swords and battle techniques as much as I do, but he does."

"He definitely sounds like a keeper," Margaery said with the satisfaction of a cat that had caught a canary.

It took Brienne a second to grasp her friend's meaning before exclaiming, "Margaery! He's a student! For god's sake, he's a student _in my class_!"

"So what? That's never stopped a male professor before," she pointed out.

"That's not the point. I'm not going to be a sleazy professor trying to get in the sack with one of my students. Would you do something like that?"

"Well no, but I don't have a gorgeous blonde-haired, blue-eyed person obsessed with the same things I'm obsessed with just sitting there in front of me every day, hanging on my every word, and being so...helpful."

"He's not."

"What? He's not obsessed with swords or he's not helpful?"

"He's not gorgeous."

"Oh come off it. You know he is!"

"I hadn't noticed," Brienne said stubbornly.

"Give me a break, Brienne." Margaery's eye-roll was so huge her eyes practically popped out of her head.

"However good looking Mr. Lannister might or might not be is none of my concern," Brienne said firmly. "I've worked too hard to get where I am. I won't throw it all away on an idiotic whim no matter how...easy on the eyes a completely hypothetical student might be."

"There's more to life than a career," Margaery pointed out.

"Not for me there's not," Brienne retorted. "I see the museum parking garage ahead. I can drop you off here at the curb if you want."

"Sounds great," Margaery said airily as if the two hadn't been on the verge of an argument mere moments before. "I'll text you when I get to the museum at four. We can meet up at the Near East exhibit. I need to see that goddess statue before it comes down next week."

Brienne harrumphed in response. She still hadn't forgiven Margaery for pointing out what was extremely obvious, and that was the fact that she found Jaime Lannister far too compelling. And that was just for his brains, let alone for his looks! His beauty made it hard to think straight around him. Thinking about him in any context other than as her student was a terrible idea, though, and she shoved it as far out of her mind as she could. 

After parking her car, she walked to the entrance of the museum. She loved this building. Four pairs of columns decorated and held up the facade while swaths of fabric trailed down between the middle columns. Large letters on the fabric announced it was The Met in case anyone had any doubts on the matter. The entire building exuded neoclassic symmetry and grace in its Beaux-Arts style, something that appealed to Brienne's straightforward soul. It also didn't hurt that the Greek and Roman collection had always been the bedrock of the museum's displays.

She gazed up at the majestic rounded arches of the Great Hall when she entered the building, still amazed at the architectural grandeur. Her students clustered near the entrance to the Greek and Roman wing to the left. It brought a small smile to her face to watch the grad students wrangle the few stragglers into a semblance of order. As she walked toward the group, Brienne hailed them with, "Good morning. How many of you have been here before?" Only a few raised their hands. "You're in for a treat," she said as she ushered the group of twenty students ahead of her into the Prehistoric and Early Greek Art gallery.

"Now, there are a few pieces from the collection I want you to really look at and consider before you get overwhelmed with just how much this museum has on display. All of you can wander freely after we've seen them or you can join one of the tours. First, because I'm nothing if not selfish, let's take a look at some of my favorites."

She led them to a large gallery where cases held various art and artifacts for everyone to view. “Several of you wish to write about everyday material objects, and this gallery has a jewelry exhibit and one of armor nearby. You can probably guess which one I'll be spending my time with." She gestured to the area before them to indicate the students were free to look around. Gilly and several others stopped before an impressive display of Greek bracelets, rings, earrings, and gold diadems. The pieces gave off a dull gleam, and there was much chattering about them from the students. Brienne appreciated their enthusiasm, but she was saving her sighs for the other wall. 

Several students followed her lead as she stood before a display of armor. 

"Just look at that bronze cuirass and greaves," she breathed as much to herself as to the students. "Spectacular." The armor had a deep blue-green patina, and was shaped for a man's torso and shins. Seeing a gorgeous horse bit with ornate rising and falling spokes decorating it, she wondered what it would be like to wear armor and ride a horse into battle. She would never know, and she gave a long sigh that no amount of jewelry would have been able to wring from her. Feeling a presence to her right, Brienne looked over to see Jaime Lannister gazing with rapt attention at the two swords in the display case next to her.

"There are my machaira," he said with satisfaction under his breath.

She smiled at the proprietary tone of his voice. The swords hung in the display case, and the two scholars shared a moment of joy in looking at the weapons' sleek curves. Suddenly, all of Margaery's comments about how handsome he was sprang into her mind. Brienne felt a moment of dread, wondering if she should be avoiding him. But no. She had the power to give him the opportunity of a lifetime. It was something she had planned several days before, and she wasn't about to back out now.

She cleared her throat. "I actually have a surprise for you, Mr. Lannister."

He looked up at that, and his expression turned a little wary, as if surprises were not his favorite thing in the world. "What might that be, Dr. Tarth?"

"I pulled some strings and arranged for a special, close-up viewing of a machaira if you're interested."

"Interested!" he exclaimed. "Of course I'm interested."

She found his enthusiasm infectious. "Follow me, then." 

He joined her, and they set out through the museum as if they were two knights in search of adventure.


	6. Fire in Our Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the pining commence!  
> Here’s a link to Margaery’s beloved goddess statue:  
> [Nude Babylonian Goddess](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/757625)

"Do the gods light this fire in our hearts, or does each man's mad desire become his god?" - Virgil's _Aeneid_

\--------

Jaime wondered where on earth they were going and what on earth they were going to do once they got there. He followed his professor faithfully through the museum even though he'd visited it a few times before. The allure of being surrounded by so much history nearly overwhelmed him. When he finally got his bearings, he had to hold his excitement in check because they were definitely heading for the Arms and Armor wing. They passed through a few sculpture galleries, and he didn't think it was his imagination that they were both hurrying toward their destination. It seemed that Dr. Tarth was as impatient to get there as he was. They rounded a corner and Jaime held his breath.

The Arms and Armor room was just as stunning as he'd remembered it. 

They both stood in the entrance for a moment, taking it all in. Armored figures on horseback stretched in pairs across the floor in a kind of parade. A special collection of late medieval pieces took up most of the collection, and American swords and guns spanned the back galleries. It was a popular exhibit, and the Saturday afternoon crowds buzzed around the room. Jaime was torn between looking at the Iron Age weapons and looking at the medieval swords against a far wall. The swords won out, and he weaved around various groups of people to get close to his goal. Standing in front of the cases, he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as if he were a child when he saw one of the weapons had a lion as its pommel. Beautiful enamel designs covered the sword's pommel, ending in the rearing lion made of ivory. What he wouldn't give to wield something like that or even to hold it in his hands for just a few minutes. He knew it was a ceremonial piece and had most likely never been used on a battlefield, but he still longed to feel the swing and thrust of it. Dr. Tarth joined him a moment later, bringing him out of his imaginings. 

"Beautiful piece," she commented, peering at it carefully. "I see the appeal. Although I don't know how I feel about the fact that it's stepping on a crescent moon. That's part of my family's sigil." A note of humor filled her voice, and he realized how ridiculous he must look as he pined away for something he would never touch. He gave a wry chuckle. 

"When I was a kid, I always dreamed of having a sword with the family lion for a pommel. I don't know what I would have done with the damned thing if I had one. Probably stabbed myself with it."

"I have a feeling you would have been much too careful to do that."

Jaime was about to answer when a short, dark-haired woman bounded up to them.

"Dr. Tarth," Arya Stark exclaimed. "Isn't it amazing?"

"What happened to looking at the Greek collection? Did you come straight here?" Tarth asked her.

"Of course." She looked at the two of them as if there was nowhere else she would rather be. "I looked at all the important bits in the Greek exhibit, but I need to check out the dueling swords. I just wanted to say thank you for having us come here. It was definitely worth the drive."

"You're very welcome," Dr. Tarth said, and Arya moved away to slip around the corner towards a grouping of thin rapiers. "Do I even want to know why she 'needs' to look at dueling swords?" Dr. Tarth asked. 

Jaime laughed. "Probably best if we don't ask too many questions." They returned to contemplating the glass case in front of them. Although there were people milling about, Jaime realized this was one of the only times he'd ever been standing next to his professor. She usually met with him in her office planted firmly behind her desk with him on the other side. Now, side by side, he took a chance and asked her what had been on his mind the entire Winter Session. "I've always wanted to know," he began. She looked at him. "Why are you so fascinated with all of this?"

Dr. Tarth turned back to the swords and was quiet for a long moment. She was obviously thinking of what words could adequately sum up her life's work. He knew it was no small question he asked of her.

"I would have to say I love studying pieces like these because they represent freedom for me...Freedom from restrictions others would place on me...The freedom to do and study the things I care about and to not let anyone else dictate what I 'should' be working on or what I 'should' care about as a woman."

He nodded. It made sense to him.

"What about you, Mr. Lannister?"

He knew it was only fair that she turned the tables on him, and he thought it was intriguing that she still refused to call him by his first name. "I think it's about freedom for me as well, but it's also about adventure. And most of all it's about the need to prove myself."

When he looked up at her, a small smile lingered on her lips. He was suddenly filled with the urge to pull her towards him and kiss her. He quickly looked back to the swords. Shit. He was getting carried away. Nothing good would come of wanting what he couldn't have. He didn't want to have a crush on his professor, and god knew she wouldn't appreciate it if he indicated how he felt. Just because they were having a shared moment didn't mean there was anything else happening. After all, she still refused to call him by his first name.

Swords, you idiot, he thought. Focus on the swords.

Dr. Tarth swung around away from him. Jaime hoped she hadn't felt the charged energy coming off of him. "Late, as usual," he heard her mutter. Who was late? he wondered. After a few minutes, a young man entered the room, looked around, then made a beeline for the pair of them.

"Dr. Tarth!" the man called out.

She smiled and stepped forward to greet him. There was an awkward moment where both of them tried to figure out whether the man was going in for a hug or if they were just shaking hands. It almost made Jaime laugh when his professor fended off the hug and firmly shook the stranger's hand instead.

"Pod. You know you're welcome to call me Brienne."

Pod looked abashed. "I know. But you'll always be Dr. Tarth to me."

She gestured toward Jaime. "This is Jaime Lannister, the doctoral student I told you about."

Pod nodded, and stuck out his hand, saying "Podrick Payne, at your service." Jaime shook it, but all the while he was distracted with wondering what Dr. Tarth might have said about him. 

"Pod was once my student, and now he's the assistant to the Armorer and Conservator here at the Met. I'm very proud of his success." 

"I owe everything to Dr. Tarth," Pod said warmly.

Jaime suddenly recognized the man as being the same one who had worked on the metallurgy article with his professor. They must have worked quite closely together. A twinge of something like jealousy flew through him. 

"I asked Pod to show us a few behind-the-scenes examples from the Arms and Armor collection."

"I have a few pieces I picked out that I know you'll love. If you'll both follow me, I'll show them to you."

The three dodged the surrounding crowds and made their way to an elevator. Once inside, Pod pushed a button and took them to a floor with a sign that read "Henry R. Kravis Wing." What looked like several labs lined the hallway. He opened one of the doors and ushered the visitors inside into a space where long worktables held an assortment of books and papers. A stack of pallets on the floor held up an honest to god sarcophagus. Jaime stared at the object and at some technological device lined up above it.

"That's a 3D X-Ray," Pod explained. "It lets us look inside statues and other artifacts in a way we never could before."

Brienne's attention seemed to be captured by something on a table behind an ornate statue of a goddess Jaime didn’t recognize. He walked to her side to see what was so captivating and his eyes grew wide. There was a machaira displayed in the open air right in front of his face. It rested on a stand, and it wasn't until Pod handed him a set of blue rubber gloves that Jaime realized _he was going to get to touch it!_

The conservator gingerly lifted the blade by its vaguely boomerang-shaped edge and its curved pommel, saying, "Careful now. I lose my job if you drop it." 

Jaime couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

He pulled on the gloves and slowly reached out for the sword. Pod put it into his hands, and he held it as gently as he possibly could. 

"What is the balance like?" Dr. Tarth asked in a hushed voice.

"It's weighted towards the front of the blade, but the pommel is so substantial that it doesn't feel like it's about to fall out of your hands."

"Well that's good," Pod joked. 

Dr. Tarth leaned in close to Jaime to see it better, and he tried not to notice the beguiling scent she seemed to always wear.

Trying to distract himself, he held the sword up to his face. "The blood grooves look almost ornamental, they're so finely etched into the blade. I can't believe I'm holding this."

"Dr. Tarth told me you're working on a case study of the machaira's transition into medieval blades," Pod remarked.

"That's the plan," Jaime said, hardly able to tear his eyes away from the sword he held.

"Mr. Lannister will also be writing about forging techniques by visiting an artisan in Rochester."

"Gendry Waters? I've been following his work and nerding out over it," Pod said happily. "Anyway, I had an idea of something that might help you."

Jaime looked up with interest. Pod reached out for the machaira, and Jaime reluctantly put it into his waiting hands.

"If you really want to get to know the balance and the other characteristics of the weapon, I have a suggestion. We have a 3D printer here in our facilities. I could make a copy of this for you to take to Waters’s forge as a template."

Jaime felt gobsmacked. This was one of the kindest things anyone had offered to do for him, and he was suddenly grateful for the loyalty Dr. Tarth inspired in her former students. "Yes, of course. That would be fantastic."

Pod had a twinkle in his eyes. "Before we go do that, though, I pulled something extra special for you since you’re also interested in medieval swords. He gestured to a different table. "This one was just coming out of restoration, so I had them hold onto it here before it was put back into storage. 

Jaime gasped as he looked at what lay on the table before him. It was a glorious longsword with a silver circle decorating the end of the sword’s grip. The weapon’s shape was in a classic style, but it was absolutely beautiful in its grace and simplicity. 

"It's a Western European piece from right around 1400 AD," Pod said. "It has a copper cross-guard, and if you look closely, you'll see a Latin inscription on that silver pommel." He picked it up with the flat of the blade balanced on his hands.

Jaime and Dr. Tarth both leaned in and squinted at the words etched into it. 

Jaime read, "Here, too, virtue has its due reward."

"Virgil's _Aeneid_ ," Dr. Tarth breathed as she gazed at the weapon in rapture. 

"The second inscription on the blade itself can't be read," Pod said ruefully. "But it's really fucking cool, regardless. Pardon my French, Dr. Tarth.”

The other two nodded, staring at the weapon in Jaime's hands. Yes. It was really fucking cool, he thought.

Pod had the gleam in his eyes that Jaime was coming to love. "Want to hold it?" he asked.

Jaime reached his hands out and accepted the sword, feeling as if he was being knighted. The weight of it felt so very right. "Oh my god. I can’t believe I’m holding this,” he said reverently. He felt like he was about to have a heart attack. 

This was easily the best day of his life.

He handed the sword over to Dr. Tarth as gently as if it were a child. She held it with the same amount of awe, and he could easily envision her slogging through a muddy battlefield and hacking away at her enemies. The image shouldn't have been as attractive to him as it was...

With a sigh, she gave it back to Pod, saying, "I don't suppose you could look the other way while I make off with this?"

"Not even for you, Dr. Tarth," Pod said with a smile. "I took some pictures of the machaira and processed them ahead of time. I'll just go grab the finished piece from the 3D printing machine." He looked at them sternly. "No stealing anything while I'm gone." Pod carefully placed the longsword back onto the table and walked towards a set of double doors. Once he'd left, Jaime found himself alone with his professor again. They both looked down at the object of their mutual desire.

"I thought Greek weapons were your one true love. Are you giving them up for my medieval period?" he asked with a roguish grin.

She eyed him before saying, "I'm like most girls, Mr. Lannister. Show me something shiny and I want to make it my own. My shiny things just happen to have sharp edges."

"Longswords are a girl's best friend?"

She laughed. "Something like that."

God, she had a nice laugh, he thought.

"Has your life changed now that you've held some real history in your hands?" she asked.

"You have no idea," he said. He was already pining to hold the weapons again.

"Maybe curatorial work is your true calling."

"Maybe. I think I'd be tempted to swing one of these at something, though. The staff probably frowns at that."

"Have you already planned your trip to see Gendry Waters? I'm curious how your 3D model will influence your session with him."

Jaime told himself not to do it, but he found himself saying, "You could come with me. If you want to, that is."

Dr. Tarth shifted her gaze to the sword, as if she wrestled with what she wanted to say. He held his breath as he waited for her response. She would probably smack him down for his presumption.

She seemed to come to a decision and brought her gaze back to his. "Alright. I'd be delighted to come along. When do you plan to go?"

His entire being filled with a heady mixture of relief and anticipation as he said, "Next Saturday. I can pick you up at your place at 10am or we can meet at the school."

"We had better meet at the school. I'll see you in the parking lot near Goldwin Smith Hall."

"Sounds good."

It was impossible to know whatever else they might have said since Pod chose that moment to return. He hefted a white-colored model that was indeed in the shape of the machaira they had all held. Handing it to Jaime, he said “I can give you a bag from the gift store if you need something to carry that in.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Jaime said. “I wouldn’t want security to get the wrong idea.”

Dr. Tarth looked at her watch, probably spurred to do so at the mention of leaving. It must be nearly time for the students to go.

"Damn it,” she muttered. “I have to meet Dr. Tyrell at the goddess statue on display on the second floor.”

Something made him say, "Well, that sounds interesting. Mind if I come along?" His professor hesitated, and he wondered if he was being too forward. 

After a moment, she said, "Of course. You should see as much of the museum as you'd like. I hear that exhibit is exceptional.”

She turned to Pod. “Podrick, it’s been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Tarth.”

“Brienne,” she insisted.

“Dr. Tarth.”

“Oh alright, have it your way. It’s good to see you. Stop by if you’re ever near Ithaca. I owe you a drink.”

“I owe you several drinks, Pod,” Jaime said, holding his free hand out to shake the other man’s hand.

“Happy to help,” Pod smiled. “Let me show you the way out of here.” He led them back to the elevator and waved to them as its doors closed.

Jaime and Dr. Tarth rode to the second floor in silence. He tried not to interpret it as awkward silence, but he didn’t think he was imagining it as such. He was very aware of her presence as they stood next to each other, only inches apart and as they walked through the galleries together to get to the Near East wing.

He saw Dr. Tyrell across the room as they entered the special exhibit space. She was in Gender Studies, and although he hadn’t had reason or opportunity to take one of her classes, he had gotten an earful about Tyrell’s teaching from his sister.

She looked up as they approached. Her lips quirked up in a smile as she said, “Fancy meeting you here.” She leaned forward and kissed Brienne on the cheek. This show of affection surprised Jaime since Dr. Tarth was usually so serious. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t misread the situation and that the two were only close friends. But they might be lovers for all he knew. Before he could quite recover his footing, Dr. Tyrell turned to him. 

“How did you find the museum, Mr. Lannister? I take it Brienne’s surprise was well-received?” Her grey eyes seemed playful, but he had the distinct impression that she was weighing and assessing him. He hoped he would make a good impression.

“It’s been a remarkable afternoon. I honestly can’t remember the last time I was this excited about my work.”

“How wonderful. I take it you’ve been in Brienne’s capable hands all afternoon. And you've done such an excellent job of seeing to her class’ needs. How...helpful.” Dr. Tyrell seemed to be trying to catch Dr. Tarth's eye, and she had an expression at the corners of her mouth that could only be described as...was that a smirk?

Jaime’s mouth went a little dry. Was it his imagination, or was Dr. Tyrell deliberately making their relationship sound more scandalous than it really was? Was Tyrell in a relationship with his professor and trying to express her jealousy, or was she simply being a playful friend intent on teasing Dr. Tarth? He was very confused, and the feeling didn’t suit him.

Dr. Tyrell tilted her head as she continued, “Or maybe you came to see my goddess statue for its own sake.” Her eyes were bird-like, capturing every detail of his body language. He tried desperately to give nothing away as far as his interest in Dr. Tarth went.

“Oh, leave off, Margaery.” she said almost brusquely before changing the subject. “Is the goddess everything you hoped she would be?”

Dr. Tyrell sighed. “She’s incredible.” She looked at the statue with something close to reverence. Jaime understood the sentiment. The statue’s “skin" was on full display and was the startling white of alabaster. The rubies in her eyes and navel glittered and the golden crescent on her brow gleamed. With her broad, naked curves and outstretched hand, she was simultaneously earthy and unearthly. He felt more moved than he'd expected to be. The first century sculptors certainly knew what they were doing when they had created her.

“You’ll have to forgive Dr. Tyrell,” Dr. Tarth said. “She’s a bit of a pagan.”

“I can’t blame her,” Jaime replied. “She’s very compelling.” He caught himself. “The statue, that is.”

Dr. Tyrell laughed. “She is that.” 

Clapping her hands together, she asked Dr. Tarth “You ready to go? I just need to get one picture of the statue.”

As she did so, Jaime and his professor gave each other a last look before he cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know how to thank you. This really has been incredible.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He thought about shaking her hand or taking his leave in some other way, but that was just too awkward. Luckily, Dr. Tyrell spoke up, saying, “Let’s get out of here, Brienne.” She nodded to Jaime. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lannister.” The pair wandered towards the exit, and Jaime overheard Tyrell saying, "You need a drink.”

“Margaery...”

“Aren’t you perishing of thirst? I know I am.”

"Oh, alright. Maybe one," Tarth grudgingly replied.

Jaime realized he would give a lot of things to be able to go along with them, to see Dr. Tarth tipsy, to laugh with her and see what made her tick. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts.

He had it bad.

And that was just no good.

No good at all.


	7. No Peace, No Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, commenting, and liking this fic! 
> 
> I've waited so long to have them go on this "date" together. I hope you enjoy it :)

"His looks, his words, they pierce her heart and cling--  
no peace, no rest for her body, love will give her none.” Virgil, _The Aeneid_

\----

A week on, Jaime could admit to himself that he was thoroughly crushing on his professor. God help him, he thought. He approached Dr. Tarth's desk after that Friday's class session to work out the details of the trip to The Three Dragons forge the next day.

"Still okay to meet here tomorrow at 10am?" he asked.

"I'm looking forward to it. Do you have the directions to the forge? I can't wait to meet this swordsmith everyone seems to know about except me."

A tiny squeak came from behind them.

"You're going to a swordsmith? Can I come?" It was Arya Stark. She must have overheard them and was now practically vibrating with excitement.

Dr. Tarth hesitated, and Jaime was about to tell her as gently as he could that there was no way he was going to take her with them. This was his chance to get to know Dr. Tarth better.

"Please? Pretty please?" Arya pleaded. Her large eyes looked particularly soulful at that moment. Now he could see the resemblance to Jon Snow. When they wanted to, Ned Stark's children could really turn the melancholy from a one up to a ten. Make that an eleven as Arya doubled down on looking as if her very life depended on going along with them.

Dr. Tarth looked over at him. "It's up to you, Mr. Lannister. I'm perfectly happy to have Ms. Stark come along."

Jaime groaned inwardly. He couldn't very well say no. If he did, he'd look like a complete jerk.

"Alright. I'll see you both tomorrow, then." he said, and Arya looked like she was about to do a happy dance right there in front of them. He had no doubt she'd be doing one as soon as she got back to her dorm.

As he walked back to his apartment, he tried to ignore how the sight of Dr. Tarth's face in those last few moments had made him feel. She'd looked so approving and almost...motherly at Stark when Arya had dropped the sad puppy look. Maybe Dr. Tarth thought of the younger woman not only as a mentee, but also as the girl she once used to be. He could have sworn he'd seen a shift in the way his professor had looked at him when she turned to say goodbye, and he wished––not for the first time––that they could have met under different circumstances where he could have courted her favor beyond doing well in a classroom. It was definitely a feeling of wistfulness that came over him at that moment. He couldn't help but wonder if her heart really was as cold to him as the winter air surrounding him, or if something else was starting to grow and blossom between them.

\---------- 

The next day, Jaime pulled his car into the parking lot and saw a very bundled Arya waiting for him in the cold. Jesus, she was keen to see some swords, he thought. Not that he wasn't excited himself. He was over the moon about it. Their professor approached from the direction of her office a moment later. 

"Good morning," Jaime hailed them.

"Good morning, Mr. Lannister. Arya, do you mind if I take the front seat? Long legs."

So Arya got the first-name treatment outside of class. He couldn't help but notice that Dr. Tarth remained oddly formal with him, and he wasn't sure if it was a joke or if she really did mean to create distance between them. At least she'd be easier to talk to if she rode shotgun.

"How far away is The Three Dragons?" Arya asked from the backseat.

"A little over an hour and a half," Jaime answered. Everyone arranged themselves in their seats, the two women shedding their coats and scarves in the warm car. He punched Gendry Waters' address into the GPS on his phone, and a blast of Indie rock came through the speakers when he turned the car on.

"I can turn that off if you want, he said, but Dr. Tarth only said, "Leave it on. I like it." Jaime tried in vain not to notice that Dr. Tarth was wearing casual clothes for once and that her crimson sweater and dark blue jeans contrasted and complemented her pale hair. 

He gripped the steering wheel harder and focused on the road. The sky was clear, and it didn't look like it was about to snow, but he'd read it was supposed to come down hard later. Hopefully, they would be back by then. 

Dr. Tarth's voice broke into his thoughts. "How much did this appointment cost? I can help cover gas if you'd like," she said. 

"Don't worry about it. I can take care of it. My share of the family fortune is..." he coughed, "...substantial." He was relieved when she nodded. He felt a bit awkward discussing how his family was made of money, but Dr. Tarth didn't seem to care, which was a welcome change. 

They spent the next hour talking over a variety of topics, including Arya's upcoming English seminar on Beowulf in the Spring. "I'm reading ahead right now. A monster just attacked everyone at night, but I have a feeling the hero's going to slaughter him," she said cheerfully.

"No spoilers!" she exclaimed when Jaime opened his mouth to comment.

Dr. Tarth snorted with laughter.

After a while, she asked Jaime how he was coming along with the lesson plan for his lecture.

"I can't really decide on my topic," he admitted. "I'm not an expert in this stuff yet." 

"Why not use the opportunity to talk about your future dissertation? Nothing will make it more real than explaining it to a room full of your peers. It will do them good to learn how medieval objects evolved from the ancient versions," Dr. Tarth encouraged.

"What's your dissertation going to be on?" Arya piped up.

"The transition from ancient swords to medieval swords."

"Awesome," she said with a happy sigh.

"It's a fantastic idea," Dr. Tarth chimed in.

Jaime felt a warm glow in his chest. It was nice to be appreciated, especially by someone whose opinion he valued as much as his professor's.

During the trip, Dr. Tarth managed to avoid talking about herself almost entirely. She seemed to be a very private person, and he respected that. The time flew by, and before Jaime knew it, they were pulling into a driveway with a sign indicating that they'd reached The Three Dragons Forge. The design on the sign looked hand-carved, and it depicted three dragons breathing fire. The yard held a charming house that was so tiny it was almost a cottage, especially when compared to the massive workshop that sat next door to it. It was obvious what Waters valued, and that was his craft far above anything else. 

The garage door attached to the shop was open, and the three could see a tableau straight out of a medieval woodcut inside. A man stood in front of a large anvil, swinging a hammer. Soot streaked his face and arms, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. A large leather apron covered his body, shielding him from the sparks flying up as his hammer struck the metal before him.

Jaime parked the car, and the three climbed out. The man, who could only be Gendry Waters, looked up. He wiped his sooty hands off on a rag and went to meet them. It surprised Jaime that he looked only a few years older than Arya.

"Mr. Waters?" Jaime asked.

"That's me. Call me Gendry. You must be Jaime Lannister. Who are your friends?"

"This is Dr. Brienne Tarth and my classmate, Arya Stark."

"Pleased to meet you all."

The four stood there awkwardly for a moment before Gendry said. "Come on in and take a look at the forge. It's much warmer in there, anyway. If you need anything to drink, there's a fridge in my office."

It was indeed much warmer inside the building, and the three hung up their winter clothes.

"You mentioned in your email you wanted to see sword-making in action," Gendry noted, getting right to the point.

"Yes," Jaime said. "We'd also like to learn some basic forging techniques. Before we start, I'm curious how you got started doing this." 

Gendry shrugged. "I went to a few SCA events and Renaissance fairs with a girlfriend, and I couldn't get over the sword fighting. More than that, I really couldn't get over the swordsmithing and forging I saw there."

"It seems like a hard trade to learn."

He smiled wryly. "You'd be surprised how much you can pick up on the internet on different forums. There's a lot of training and dedication that goes into being a swordmith, as well. I worked hard to go from having a shop in my backyard to having a full-fledged forge. 

"What kinds of swords do you make?" Dr. Tarth asked.

He wiped a wayward smudge of soot from his brow with his muscled forearm. "All kinds. I prefer making actual fighting swords instead of ones that will only hang on someone's wall, though. And I'm strictly into recreating historical weapons." Gendry waved his hand at his equipment. "You can see there are no presses or electric sanders here. I do everything by hand, and the skills for that are very different than the swords made for Hollywood or something like that."

"That's exactly what we want to see," Jaime said.

"You said you had a particular weapon in mind to recreate?" Gendry asked him.

Jaime nodded. "A machaira." He pulled a picture out of a folder he carried and showed it to the man.

Gendry whistled as he looked at the picture. He started mumbling to himself. "So, basically, you want a one-handed sword with a curved blade and a shallow fuller?" He considered a moment before saying, "We can do that."

Jaime's heart soared.

"Does it have a single cutting edge like a saber, or is it sharp on both sides of the blade?" 

"Single edge."

"Do you have a template?" 

Dr. Tarth nodded in Jaime's stead and pulled the 3D-printed sword out of a bag she'd hefted and carried from the car. Gendry considered the replica for a moment. He looked at them both. "You won't be able to do the whole thing yourselves since you're only here for the day, but I can show you how it would have been done, and you can swing the hammer to see what it's like. Mostly, you're going to watch. I'm assuming I don't get paid if you burn yourself or break your fingers."

"Whatever it takes to work on one of these. You'll get paid regardless of what happens to my hands," Jaime said.

Gendry looked at Arya, "I'm sorry, Ms. Stark, but I only let people twenty-one and up use the hammer."

Arya looked disappointed, but she nodded.

"What about you, Dr. Tarth?" he asked.

"I'm happy to watch, but I wouldn't say no to swinging a sword or two while we're here," she said.

"I have some wooden practice swords and a few finished pieces you can look at."

"Fantastic." She looked exceptionally pleased, and Jaime felt a surge of happiness. He hoped she opened up so he could get to know who she was beyond the brilliant professor he'd witnessed in the classroom and the generous person she'd been at the museum.

Gendry was still talking to them. "I'll walk you through a modern sword's design so you can see the differences and we'll talk about how we're going to make your Greek sword." He pointed to a schematic pinned to a wall detailing the parts of a long-sword. Jaime recognized it as the same style as the 15th-century sword Pod had let him hold. "Your basic sword will be in two parts, the blade––"

"The pointy end," Arya interrupted. 

Instead of looking irritated, Gendry laughed.

"Yes. The pointy end. Then you have the hilt, where you hold the sword. The cross guard is the long line where the two parts meet, and you could use it to protect your hand from being cut or being smashed on your enemy's shield. The groove down the middle is called the fuller, and that decreases the sword's weight."

"This is so cool," Arya whispered. Jaime agreed with her, and the light in Dr. Tarth's eyes confirmed she felt the same. 

Gendry practically rubbed his hands together at this point. "So how much do you know about forging?"

Jaime thought about it before saying slowly, "I know you get the metal really hot and whack it with a hammer."

The other man nodded. "That's definitely a large part of it, but there are intricacies I'm going to show you that will help you understand why swords work the way they do."

He motioned them towards the anvil, and Jaime noticed a hammer and tongs leaning against it. The forge itself took up a relatively small amount of space.

Gendry pointed at it. "Here's what gets the metal hot, like you said. And here's the piece of steel and iron we're going to use. That combination will give it the strength that we want to withstand blows."

"Isn't that the wrong size?" Jaime asked, frowning as he looked at the short, thick piece of metal.

"Nope," Gendry said. "The heat and the hammer will make it longer and slimmer. You'll see." He picked up the metal with the large tongs and grasped the hammer in his other hand. "When I pound the steel with the hammer, that's called 'folding.' It gets rid of impurities in the metal. I already worked in the softer iron, and it's welded to the steel to give the sword the flexibility we want."

"It needs to be bendy?" Jaime heard the skepticism in his own voice. "I thought it needed to be hard enough so it could cut through whatever you're swinging at." 

Gendry nodded. "Swords are hard, yes, to hold their edge. But they're also flexible at the same time so they don't shatter when they're struck. The trick is to have both of those things in one blade. You're going to concentrate on the shape and I'll provide the experience to get the flexibility and the center of balance right."

Gendry took up the piece of metal with the pair of tongs, then stuck it into the forge's coals for a few minutes. When he pulled it out, it glowed yellow and orange. He laid it on the anvil and began to hit it with the hammer. The sword began to flatten and taper, the metal stretching just as Gendry had promised.

"The blade on a medieval sword will taper to the point at the end, so the thickness is greatest towards the hilt on a long-sword," he called out over his pounding. When he put the metal back into the fire, he motioned Jaime closer, saying, "I'm going to let you try to extend the sides of it to make it into a machaira. Whatever you do, do not let this touch you. It'll be about two thousand degrees when it comes out of the forge. Hold it firmly with the tongs." He eyed Jaime a moment. "You're going to want to get rid of that sweater, or you're going to ruin it."

Jaime looked down at himself. Before he could think about it too much, he took off his sweater, leaving him in his undershirt and jeans. Hopefully Dr. Tarth wasn't too shocked. He didn't think it was strictly appropriate to disrobe in front of your professor, but there wasn't any way around it.

He shivered a little, but the heat from the forge warmed him as he took over the hammer and tongs, holding them gingerly at first. Placing the metal back on the anvil, he tried not to flinch when he hit the blade with the hammer. Sparks began to fly up from where it struck the metal. He was well-aware that Dr. Tarth was watching him and his motions with interest. He pushed that to the back of his mind, reminding himself that it probably wouldn't be that impressive if he burned a hole in himself with a two-thousand-degree blade.

As the metal began to bend in the direction he told it to, he started to feel more confident. He gripped the hammer harder, hitting with all his might. To his pleasure, the piece of metal began to look more and more like a machaira. A rhythm started up as he used the hammer, and his arm muscles felt pleasantly strained.

Gendry watched over Jaime's shoulder. After a while he said, "That should do it. I'll put the finishing touches on it, then you can do the most satisfying part and quench it in the water." He pointed to a barrel of water next to the forge.

Taking over from Jaime, Gendry worked the metal around and around, using motions that were deceptively intricate. Finally, he let Jaime take the tongs again.

"What you're going to do now is take the blade and thrust it straight down into the water while you swirl it around at the same time."

Jaime hefted the blade and shoved it into the liquid. It was definitely satisfying to see the billows of steam roiling out of the water from the blade's heat. When he pulled it out, it looked almost as good as the pieces in the museum had. Excitement blazed down his nerves as if he'd been struck by lightning. It felt incredible to hold what he'd made...or helped to make, anyway.

He looked up at the clock on the workshop wall, and it shocked him to realize it had already been a few hours since they'd started. He'd been so captivated that the time had flown by. HIs arms and shirt were streaked with soot and sweat.

Gendry looked at him in approval. "You're a real swordsmith now. There's a bathroom in my office. Feel free to go clean up."

Jaime nodded. It took a while to get the soot off, and his undershirt was a lost cause. He pulled his sweater back on as he shivered in the air that felt cold after the forge's heat. Arya and Dr. Tarth had watched him the whole time he was working with Gendry. He tried not to think about what the woman he had a massive crush on might have thought about how he looked. Then again, he'd probably looked pretty good. 

Stop thinking about this! he thought, with a sigh of frustration.

When he reentered the main room, he saw Gendry showing Dr. Tarth a range of instruments affixed to the wall. He seemed to be explaining the different properties of each of them.

Jaime overheard him saying, "You said you wanted to swing a few swords. These are somewhat heavy, but it looks like you have a lot of upper-body strength." He reached into a barrel. "Before you do that, though, I recommend practicing with this wooden sword. I made a few when I was first trying to figure out balance and shaping." He pulled one out, and Jaime watched Dr. Tarth reach for it.

"Do you have a second one?" he asked.

"Yeah." Gendry looked them over. "If you want to have a go at each other around the yard, you're welcome to it. Just be careful. These are like giant baseball bats, and you can really hurt yourselves if you're not careful."

Jaime and Dr. Tarth both looked suitably chastened by Gendry's words, but each still snatched up their own wooden sword. Arya watched them, and Dr. Tarth asked her, "Are you staying here, or would you like to fight Mr. Lannister?"

"I'll stay here. I want Gendry to make me something." 

Gendry looked surprised but pleased with her enthusiasm.

Jaime motioned Dr. Tarth to the shop door. "Shall we?" 

"After you."

Once they were in the yard, bundled in their coats, Dr. Tarth took a look at them and laughed. "I guess winter coats will work for armor. I haven't done this since I was a girl fighting with a neighbor boy."

Jaime grinned. "I haven't done this in a while, either. My brother never had any interest in swords, and my sister would have fought dirty and kicked my butt."

Looking a little self-conscious, Dr. Tarth hefted the sword in her hands. He did the same, feeling its weight in his already-strained arms. "Take it easy on me," he said, "But not too easy."

The two began to circle each other, looking for a moment of weakness. When Jaime swung his sword at her, she raised her own and easily blocked it. The thwack of wood against wood sounded through the still air. For a long while, they learned the rhythms of parry and thrust and how each guarded and attacked. Time passed, and as their swings became faster, the weight behind the swings grew harder and harder. Their eyes narrowed in concentration. Neither one gave any quarter.

Jaime wished they could abandon their coats and fight all-out, but it was probably for the best they had the extra padding. There was a ferocious quality to his professor's movements. Her height was definitely an asset in this situation. He began to formulate a plan to get past her and disarm her. Before he could even get started, though, she gave a mighty blow to his sword that made his arm fly wide. He was suddenly off-balance and couldn't recover his form. Before he could even yelp in surprise, a shoulder crashed into his chest. The momentum knocked him backwards into a snowbank. 

He looked up from the ground at Dr. Tarth who gave a whoop of triumph. She stood over him and moved the tip of her sword towards his shoulder to tap him and claim her victory. Before he could even think about whether it was a good idea or not, he swung his leg out. It swept her off her feet, and she went crashing to the ground, her fall cushioned by the giant snowdrift next to him.

He was suddenly chagrined. Looking over at her, he expected to see anger on her face, but she began to laugh loud and long after a moment of shocked silence.

"You're cheating!" she exclaimed. "I would have won."

"You think _I_ cheated? You knocked me on my ass!"

"All's fair, Mr. Lannister."

They both lay next to each other in the looming twilight, panting and seeing their breath billowing in plumes in the cold air. The moment felt oddly intimate. 

Dr. Tarth got up first. She leaned down and offered him a hand to pull him to his feet. 

"Thank you," she said. "I haven't had that much fun in a long time."

"Same here. We'll have to have a second round sometime so I can prove I'm not terrible at this."

The two walked back to the workshop as darkness gathered in earnest around them. When they entered, Arya and Gendry were bantering with each other. 

"You said you went to SCA with a girlfriend, so where is she?"

"We broke up."

"How sad for you."

"I'm heartbroken. You shouldn't mock me."

"I'm sure you are. Pay attention and don't ruin my sword."

Gendry laughed again at Arya. He seemed to be doing that a lot, Jaime thought.

The two looked up from what they were working on. He could have sworn Gendry was blushing, but that must have been the heat from the forge.

"So who won?" Gendry asked. "You were at it for a long time."

"I did," they both answered at once.

Dr. Tarth made an exasperated sound. "I won, and you know it."

"Oh, that's right. I cheated, you said?"

"You know you did!"

Arya looked back and forth between them with with an assessing gaze. Gendry had turned back to his anvil where he was finishing up Arya's sword. It appeared to be a rapier, and it had a surprisingly slim blade. Give me a proper sword any day, Jaime thought to himself, but Arya looked ecstatic about it. 

He pulled out his phone for the first time all day to check it. Cersei had called, and he made a mental note to call her back then checked his weather app. It would be clear for the next few hours, but then it was supposed to snow all night. He knew they should probably get on the road before too long, but the time in the workshop felt too perfect to even suggest it. Instead, he turned to Gendry.

"Can I trouble you for that drink you mentioned?"

"Sure. Help yourself."

Jaime went into the office and opened the fridge. He hesitated, but snagged two beers for him and Dr. Tarth as well as a soda for Arya. He would be a little embarrassed if Dr. Tarth didn't want anything, but the opportunity to share a drink with her was too good to pass up. 

She was nowhere to be seen when he returned, and he assumed she must have stepped outside. After handing the soda to Arya, Jaime went to join her. It was now fully dark, but he could easily see her tall silhouette in the light from the door. He stood next to her, and when she looked down, he offered her one of the beers. It surprised the hell out of him, but she took it, their fingers brushing in the process. Both quickly turned to look out into the night.

They drank in silence. After a while, Jaime spoke first. "Looks like the weather's going to turn, but we should be able to get back to Ithaca before it snows again."

Dr. Tarth gave a noncommittal "Hm."

Jaime tried again, clearing his throat. "It was good to meet Dr. Tyrell at the art museum. She seems interesting."

Dr. Tarth gazed over at the dark smudge of trees across the lawn. "Interesting is one word for it."

“Do you and Dr. Tyrell live together?”

She looked startled at that. “Me and Margaery? God no. We would kill each other or do something to completely ruin our friendship."

He felt something inside him relax for the first time in a week at the sound of the word “friendship.”

"Why do you ask?"

"No reason," he said quickly. "You just seemed like such good friends."

"Were definitely good friends."

"Good," Jaime said.

"Good."

They lapsed into silence.

The stars above them blazed, putting the fairy lights around the cottage's windows to shame. His professor drew a deep breath of the snowy country air.

"I love that we're so far away from the city," she said.

"Same here. Although I won't love it so much if we're all snowed in up here with Gendry."

She laughed. Damn it. He still loved that laugh. He wanted to make her laugh and smile for as long as the sun and all the other stars burned. 

Fuck. She was turning him into a poet. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. He looked up at the stars and quoted the words, “The dewy night unrolls a heaven thickly jeweled with sparkling stars.”

He could feel Dr. Tarth's eyes on him. " _The Aeneid_. I never was as much a fan of that one."

"Why not? It has so many great lines."

"Yes, but there's also 'A shifty, fickle object is woman, always.'" 

"Ah," Jaime said. "No wonder you don't like it."

"Exactly. I much prefer, 'All the stars rise bathed in the ocean stream to glitter in brilliance.'" 

Jaime smiled. "Of course. The Iliad. That's a good one."

You really know your literature," she said. "Did you read the classics as a child?"

"No." Jaime drew out the word. "I was a terrible reader. I caught up on all my reading in my teenage and early college years, or I had my sister read to me when we were kids while I memorized as much as I could."

"Too interested in playing with swords and rescuing maidens to sit down with a book?"

Jaime laughed at the idea. "Playing with swords, yes. Rescuing maidens, no. Cersei was more likely to rescue me than I was to rescue her. Absolutely fearless, that one."

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "The real reason I didn't read when I was a kid was that I had terrible dyslexia."

Dr. Tarth took in that information then merely said, "How did you get over it? You seem to read just fine now."

"It's still hard for me, but I can make it work. I listen to a lot of audio books, and like I said, I'm very good at memorizing."

He wondered how much he should tell her, but he finally went on. "It was my father who helped me when I was young. We finally figured out all the letters were rearranging themselves in my head every time I looked at a sentence."

Jaime grimaced. "He worked with me for four hours a day until I could read as well as I do now. I hated him for it at the time, but now I owe him for everything I've been able to do. Sometimes I wonder if everything I do relates to wanting to please the man."

Dr. Tarth looked over at him. "I've met your father. I can understand the need to do that." She paused, and Jaime sensed she was choosing her words carefully. "I'm afraid my own father didn't understand a daughter who wanted to climb trees and ride horses while pretending she was a Knight of the Roundtable."

This admission made Jaime laugh. The picture of his professor spending her sunlit, youthful days skinning her knees and playing in the dirt was too perfect. 

He found himself confiding in her before he even thought about it. "To be honest, my father's never been the same since my mother died. If you've met him, you know how intimidating he can be when he wants to be. He intends for me to carry on the family legacy whether I want to or not. Luckily, I do want to. Most of the time, anyway." 

Brienne nodded. She seemed very far away as she said, "My mother died when I was very young. I was too young to remember her, actually, and my father just...retreated. His books were almost more important to him than I was." She looked up at that, the look on her face revealing her shock at having told him so much.

Jaime was determined not to let her admission make her feel awkward if he could help it. He pushed off from the wall, saying, "We should probably check on Arya and Gendry before she accidentally runs him through with that sword or something."

Dr. Tarth nodded, and the moment was broken. She followed him back into the workshop, where Gendry and Arya were talking. Gendry held the rapier in his hands and was saying gruffly, "Keep it. It's made for you. Don't go cutting yourself with it, though."

Jaime was pretty sure there was a spark between those two. He had a feeling Arya would be emailing or texting Gendry before too long.

"Ready to go?" he asked both women.

"Yes," Dr. Tarth said.

"I guess," Arya said much more reluctantly.

Gendry wrapped the swords in leather, and Jaime opened the trunk and carefully placed them inside it. They all three shook hands with the swordsmith, who watched from the door of his shop as the students and their professor loaded themselves into the car and drove away.

Death Cab's "Passenger Seat" played through the speakers, the opening lyrics drifting up like a narration of their journey.

_I roll the window down_  
_And then begin to breathe in_  
_The darkest country road_  
_And the strong scent of evergreen_  
_From the passenger seat as you are driving me home_

Dr. Tarth leaned her head against the window to look up at the stars, and Jaime felt a surge of protective feeling for her. He wanted her to never feel lonely or unwanted ever again.

His father believed he cared too much about what others thought, and maybe that was true. At that moment, he remembered another saying by Homer--that most men were worse than their fathers and that few men were better. But there was something about Dr. Tarth's clear gaze and forthright nature that made him _want_ to be better. 

He'd always thought he was hateful like his twin, but maybe with Brienne he could be a good man.

They rode into the night. The velvety darkness held them as the bright points of light wheeled above, and Jaime hoped the drive would never end.


	8. The Wild Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting and liking this fic. I had no idea there would be so much love for it, and I appreciate it so very very much!

“[I]t is the wine that leads me on,  
the wild wine that sets the wisest man to sing  
at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool  
– it drives the man to dancing... it even  
tempts him to blurt out stories  
better never told.” - Homer, _The Odyssey_

\--------

Brienne frantically stacked books and swept papers up into scattered piles while two cats scampered underfoot. It was unusual for her to clean her house so throughly, and the fact that she should perhaps do so on a more regular basis was quickly becoming apparent to her. However, it was the last Saturday of the month, and she'd invited her grad students over for dinner to celebrate the end of Winter Session. 

To be honest, she looked forward to it. The final week had raced by in a flurry of meetings with students nervous about their final projects. Plus, there were two days set aside for presentations and one day for Jaime Lannister's lecture. She felt quite satisfied with how the course went and with what she had imparted to the students, many of whom asked if she was teaching anything they could take in the Spring semester or the Fall of the next academic year.

That meant it had also been one week since the outing to Gendry's forge with Jaime and Arya. Brienne blushed a little to remember how she had briefly fallen asleep in Jaime's car with her head leaning against the window. She certainly hadn't meant to, and she was pretty sure he hadn't noticed. It surprised her how safe she'd felt in the cozy warmth, so much so that sleep had claimed her. Maybe it had something to do with all the exercise from the sword fight in Gendry's yard, or maybe it was the comforting and clean masculine scent that had surrounded her in the enclosed space of the car. 

Memories of the intimacy of that night and their outdoor conversations crept up on her again and again, no matter how often she told herself to forget about such things. And when had she started thinking of him as "Jaime" instead of "Mr. Lannister," anyway? It felt scandalous to allow herself to think of him so informally, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

It had become extremely difficult to remember the line she needed to maintain between student and teacher when it came to Jaime Lannister. It didn't help that the man had come to her office twice to talk over his lesson plan. One of those meetings had resulted in them going to the nearest coffee shop and then walking back to her office in the crisp air. She had grabbed a coffee, and he had bought himself a hot chocolate. So not only was he charming as the devil, but he was also completely adorable and apparently had a sweet tooth. Brienne groaned at these thoughts. Detail upon detail had begun to pile up between them, and their familiarity with each other had become so marked that she could scarcely meet his eyes now for fear of revealing too much of what she felt.

Most recently, they'd had a light conversation about his Spring schedule and the chat had brought home for her just how deep her attraction to him was. He made her laugh with witty remarks about his professors and the books he was reading. She knew she shouldn't be laughing at his words, but she couldn't seem to hold it inside. Even worse, she could practically feel the way his eyes tracked her every movement throughout the rest of the class sessions. And when she'd sat in the back of the classroom to watch the presentations, it was no coincidence that she'd sat next to "Mr. Lannister," as she continued to call him. She had to maintain some kind of distance, after all.

Honestly, their relationship was pure torment. It brought to her mind everything the poets said about heightened emotions and raw pining. All the turns of phrase she'd considered to be rubbish and pretty words in the past now seemed to sum up her situation perfectly.

Brienne hated to admit it, but Margaery had been right all along. 

Perhaps it was for the best that the course was over. Perhaps. But if she was honest with herself, she felt far too melancholy and regretful about something that hadn't even had the opportunity to begin between them.

"Oh stop," she said aloud to herself as she cleaned. "He probably has no interest in you beyond getting what he needs for his dissertation. You'd be an idiot to think he wanted anything from you beyond having you on his committee. He's probably more interested in making Dr. Luwin happy than he ever would be in making you happy. So just...stop," she finished miserably.

Not paying attention to what she was doing, she jostled the couch cushions. A pile of books perched precariously on the edge of them slid off onto the floor with a crash.

"Shit!" she exclaimed with more force and venom than was strictly necessary. Gathering up the books, she carried them up the stairs to her bedroom. At least they wouldn't be in the way if they were up there. Speaking of in the way... 

"Sarpedon! Briseis! Come here, darlings."

The two cats entered the room warily. They knew something was up from all the upheaval to their space. Before they could flee, Brienne slid around them and closed the door behind her. A few meows and scratching sounds instantly came from the other side. 

"Sorry, my loves," she said, "but you don't need an audience tonight. And my students don't need you to entertain them."

Back on the main floor, she looked around. Everything was in good order. The couch cushions were fluffed and were actually sitting on the couch for once. There was a vase full of flowers on the coffee table, and its surface was clear of her work and her laptop. The dining room table she only ever used as storage was set up with its six chairs just in case one of the students brought a significant other as she'd told them they could do. Perhaps they could move the chairs into the living room if everyone preferred to sit there in front of the fire after dinner.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her musings. Oh well, she thought. The house would just have to be clean enough since her guests had arrived. Kicking the colorful rag rug into place in front of the door, she ran a hand through her hair and checked that her favorite black dress was in order. It was. 

With a smile of greeting on her face, she opened the door only to see golden hair and a familiar, handsome face. 

"Good evening," Jaime said, smiling his crooked smile.

Brienne was helpless in front of that smile. Oh for god's sake, she thought. Of course Jaime would get there first.

She stepped backwards out of the way to let him in, and he entered. He was limping slightly. 

"Are you all right?" Brienne asked.

Jaime grimaced. "I slipped on the ice outside your neighbor's house." 

He handed her a bottle of wine. "This is for you. Well, for all of us," he hastily amended.

"Are you sure you're all right? I can get an icepack or something for your leg."

"That's okay. Thank you for offering, though. Do you mind if I just use your bathroom to wash my hands?"

"Of course! It's at the top of the stairs and to the right."

Brienne watched him climb up the stairs to the second floor before she carried the wine into the kitchen. It was a _very_ nice Shiraz, expensive but not too expensive. He had good taste, she thought grudgingly. She used a corkscrew to open the bottle and set it on the counter next to the wine glasses on hand. It sat next to a bottle of sparkling cider in case anyone didn't drink. Looking around at the room, she decided it would be a little too tight to have everyone hang out in the kitchen, so she picked up a tray of cheese and figs to carry into the dining room.

A hint of movement caught her eye, and before she could blink, a pair of Abyssinian cats stood on the floor directly before her. They looked very satisfied with themselves. Jaime entered the kitchen a moment later. The cats turned around to stare at him, their eyes glowing and golden in the dim lighting. It should have looked eerie and would probably put off most people, but he just bent down and petted Sarpedon who arched his back as if he'd been expecting the gesture. 

Brienne groaned and set down the cheese tray. "How did they get out? I could have sworn I shut them up in my bedroom." 

Jaime looked very uncomfortable for a moment. "I chose the wrong door. Sorry about that." 

Briseis began circling him and sniffing his legs. She seemed to deem him acceptable as well, and she gave her usual pitiful meow before trotting expectantly to her food bowl.

"I just fed you!" Brienne exclaimed. She looked over at Jaime, whose mouth was working to suppress a smile. "You'd think I starved them." She cursed inwardly and tried to herd the cats back out of the kitchen and toward the stairs as quickly as she could. They blatantly ignored her efforts, though, and their antics made Jaime laugh. On hearing his voice, Sarpedon returned to him to receive more pets, and Briseis yowled at him before butting her head against his leg.

"They seem to like you," Brienne said. It puzzled her that the creatures, who were normally aloof even to Margaery, were fawning over Jaime Lannister like he was made of catnip. 

"My family crest is a lion," he said. "They must recognize a cat person when they see one." He paused. "Sorry I let them out."

Brienne tried not to think about how he'd been in her room and also tried not to wonder about what he'd thought of it. He would have seen the stacks of books she'd stashed there littering the room and covering the bed.

As if he read her thoughts, he smiled, saying, "You certainly have a lot of books. It's nice to meet a fellow packrat."

"You've seen the disaster zone I've made of my office on campus. Did you really think my house would be that different? How's the leg?" 

"It's nothing. After all, someone knocked me over into a snowbank just last week, and I survived that," he joked.

Her eyes widened, and she gave a disbelieving laugh as she said, "Oh my god, let it go! I won that sword fight fair and square."

"Keep telling yourself that."

She realized they were grinning at each other. The room suddenly felt very small. Brienne cleared her throat and asked, "Can I pour you a glass of wine?"

"Sure. I hope you like it. My brother sent it to me for Christmas, but I never got around to drinking it. Seemed like a good opportunity to use it tonight. It smells amazing in here, by the way."

"Thank you," Brienne said, pouring them both a glass of wine. As she handed Jaime his glass, their hands brushed. She could have sworn he inhaled softly at the physical contact.

Student. Student. Student. The mantra ran over and over in her head. Oh god. Why did this have to be so hard? 

Jaime took a large sip of his wine before commenting, "That's a great dress. It looks familiar. Did you wear it to one of our first classes?"

"I did, in fact."

"Very pretty," he said quietly. But he wasn't looking at her dress--he was looking into her eyes.

Her heart gave a flip flop, and the room felt overly warm.

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang.

"That will be the other students! I'll go get them." Brienne left the kitchen in far more of a hurry than she needed to. She made it to the door as it rang for a second time, and she jerked it open while feeling a mixture of both relief and disappointment. The three remaining grad students stood on the stoop. "Hello," she said warmly. "Please come in." Sam, Gilly, and Jon trooped in just as the cats made a quick dash back up the stairs.

Sam stepped forward holding a foil-wrapped platter as the others took off their coats and boots. "It's a chocolate and sea salt tart. Gilly and I made it this afternoon."

Brienne felt genuinely touched at their thoughtfulness. "Thank you both," she said. "I'll show you all to the dining room. There will be wine and cheese in there in just a few minutes. The bathroom is up the stairs and to the right. The second door on the right, that is," she said hurriedly. No need for anyone besides Jaime to see her bedroom if she could help it. 

When she entered the dining room, she saw that Jaime had already brought in the wine and cheese and placed it on the sideboard. She sent him a grateful look before putting the tart next to the cheeses. "Help yourselves," she said and went back into the kitchen to get her own wineglass. Jaime joined her a moment later.

"Anything else I can help carry in?"

"No, no. I can manage it." She tried not to sound curt, but she felt like she needed to reestablish some kind of distance between them. He merely nodded and went back into the dining room. 

She looked up at the ceiling in exasperation at herself and wiped her sweating hands on a dish towel. Opening the refrigerator door, she took out a large salad. She set this on the counter before opening the oven door and pulling out a giant pan of lasagna. It looked like it had turned out well. She may not have been an amazing cook, but she knew how to make a few simple things for a large group.

It turned out to be a night of good food and good companions. Even Jon smiled and laughed after a few glasses of wine, and he turned out to be absolutely charming beneath his melancholy exterior. Sam and Gilly had eyes only for each other, and it made Brienne happy to see them so young and obviously in love.

Then there was Jaime.

As hard as she tried, she wasn't immune to his beauty or his charm. It was hard not to look over at him more than she should, and she also found herself hanging on his words more than she would like. Luckily, the other grad students acted as a buffer between the two of them.

"This is really great wine, Dr. Tarth," Gilly said.

"You can thank Mr. Lannister for that."

Jaime nodded. "It's my pleasure. My brother is an expert on wine. I'll be sure to tell him it went to good use."

"I propose a toast," Sam said. "Three cheers to Dr. Tarth, who showed us all that there's a lot more to Ancient Greek History than dusty books."

"Cheers!" The grad students exclaimed. Brienne felt happiness blossom warmly in her chest. Thank goodness she had taken the opportunity to get to know these students, she thought. And thank goodness Aemon forced her to teach the class in the first place.

The conversation turned toward Spring classes and what the younger grad students were going to work on for their theses. After a while, everyone seemed to be finished with dinner. Brienne looked around at the satisfied smiles on her former students' faces. 

"Anyone in the mood for some chocolate tart?"

A chorus of "Yes, please," echoed around the room. Jon sat closest to the sideboard, so he placed the tart in the middle of the table and started cutting pieces for his fellows. Brienne retrieved some small plates from the kitchen, and once they had sent the plates around the table, they all tucked in. There were literal moans of pleasure from a few of the guests.

"Sam...Gilly...This is amazing," Brienne said after her first swallow.

"It was Gilly's idea," Sam exclaimed. "'Chocolate tart goes with everything,' she said."

"Well, it does," Gilly replied.

Conversation lagged after that as everyone worked their way through dessert then leaned back in their chairs with slightly glazed expressions of satisfaction on their faces. It was getting late, and the students decided it was time to go.

"Can we help you with the dishes, Dr. Tarth?" Jon asked

"If you all would just help me carry them into the kitchen, that would be great," she replied.

Everyone stacked up the dishes that had been completely scraped clean and carried an armful of them into the next room. Brienne put the lasagna pan into the sink and ran some water into it. Jaime was the last in line, and he seemed to be admiring the room as he waited to put his own pile of plates near the sink. Brienne knew every move he made, because she couldn't stop sneaking glances his way. He stepped up to her and hesitated.

"Feel free to just leave them in the sink. I'll wash up later," she assured him.

"You're sure? I'm happy to stay afterwards and help."

"No, that's quite alright."

Brienne could hear the muffled sounds of Jon, Gilly, and Sam chatting in the living room. She couldn't help herself and tried to draw out the moment with Jaime. 

"I very much enjoyed your final paper, Mr. Lannister. You captured the essence of sword-making and how the 3D model helped in that process. You should consider turning it into a journal article."

"Really?" he asked. "I hadn't thought about it, but that would be great."

It _would_ be great, Brienne thought. His writing needed some work, but the seeds were there for some excellent scholarship. An idea began to form in the back of her mind. She'd worked on an article with Pod that turned out well for both of them. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to try her hand at writing with Jaime. 

The man in question was busy looking around him at the art prints and the vase of orchids sitting on the cozy table for two. 

"I love your whole house. Everything has so much personal style. This room seems the most lived in, though," he remarked. "It seems the most...you. Do you spend a lot of time in here?" 

"I do. It's my favorite room in the house, although I'm not the greatest cook." 

"I don't know about that. Dinner was lovely. Everything about tonight was lovely," he said with a smile. Again, his words seemed to mean more than they appeared to at face value when he was gazing deep into her eyes.

Was it her imagination, or was he flirting with her? 

They stood in the kitchen looking at each other for a moment before Brienne broke the silence, saying, "We'd better go join the others."

"Yes, of course," Jaime said, doing as she bid. 

She hung back a moment instead of following him out. There was a flutter of something like nervousness in her stomach, and she tried to stamp it down. Something was seriously wrong with her. Yes, they were of a similar age since he’d taken his time to finish his other degrees, but the idea of being attracted to one of her students filled her with dismay, and her nervousness turned to a slight queasiness. If they did have some kind of relationship beyond student and teacher, the power imbalance between them would be something she could never abide. Not to mention the gossip that would likely make life difficult for her as a woman professor more than if she had been a male one. 

Jaime would probably get a pat on the back and a “good for you for taming 'Brienne the Beauty'" as she knew she was called. For her on the other hand, there would be stares as well as muttering that would abruptly stop as soon as she entered the staff lounge. At least Jaime was in a different department. That was something, at least. But no, it wan't enough. It would never be enough.

This evening was a disaster. It didn't matter how well it had gone. All it did was make it clear to her that she should probably avoid the man until these troublesome feelings faded away. Barring that, maybe they could work on an article together and have a professional relationship, but that was all it could ever be. 

If only he didn't seem so perfect for her. And if only they could have never left Gendry's forge last week. They could still be joking together, romping in the snow, and having intense talks late into the night. In their few conversations, she'd revealed more of herself and her life than she ever had to any other man. She remembered standing in the darkness with him while he made poetic quotes about the stars. Instead of indulging in the thought of how perfect that moment had been, she reminded herself of a different Homeric quote: "Be still my heart; Thou hast known worse than this." And it was true. She wanted her heart to be still, and surely she had known worse pain than this abject pining. 

Only harsh words and mockery could come from revealing her feelings to anyone, and she didn't think she could stand to face Jaime Lannister's inevitable rejection. Better to never put her heart on the line and to never risk embarrassment and pain. She nodded to herself, having decided on her course of action--or inaction as the case may be.

She would go say goodnight to her students and goodbye to "Mr. Lannister." Then she would climb into her cold bed and try to make her heart as cold as the winter air outside. And if she shed a tear or two, and if her heart broke, then nobody would ever know it besides her.


	9. Merciless Love

“Ah, merciless Love, is there any length to which you cannot force the human heart to go?” Virgil, _The Aeneid_

\-------

Jaime stood in his kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and trying to make his brain understand the email he had already read three or four times. It said:

_Mr. Lannister - Please give me a call at your earliest convenience._

The email came from Dr. Tarth, and the timestamp indicated she had sent it in the middle of the night. When he awoke and checked his email, the sight of the sender's name and a subject heading that read "Question for You" made him leap out of bed and reach for a shirt. It seemed like a good idea to be fully clothed and caffeinated while trying to decide what to do with whatever it was his professor had sent him. He tried to banish any remembrance of the dream he'd had the night before featuring the both of them. It had included a great deal of rolling around in a snowbank, and not in a playful wrestling kind of way, either. Frostbite would definitely have been involved if any of it had been real.

He swept his hair out of his eyes, took a breath, and typed her phone number into his phone while trying not to think too hard about how he was about to call the woman who filled both his waking and dreaming thoughts. Taking a last fortifying sip of coffee, he hit the "Call" button. The phone rang for so long that he almost gave up before he heard the connection happen. Her voice came down the line.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dr. Tarth. It's Jaime Lannister."

"Oh. Hello, Mr. Lannister." Her voice captivated him as usual, but she sounded distracted.

"Are you busy? I can call back later."

"No! No. It's just that my cats are being terrors at the moment."

"I got the feeling last weekend that they were troublemakers."

"You have no idea."

"Thank you again for having all of us over, by the way."

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure, really." 

"So..."

"So."

There was silence down both ends of the line before they both spoke at once. 

"What can I--"

"Do you think you would--"

They both laughed at that, and Jaime didn't think it was his imagination that Dr. Tarth sounded a little nervous as well.

"I have a question for you." She paused for a moment and his heart-rate kicked up a notch before she said, "Well, I'll just come right out and say it."

That statement made his heart practically stop. "Ok?"

There was another beat of silence. What could she possibly be so nervous to ask? he wondered. Then he heard her rush through the words, "Would you like to write an article with me on ancient swords and 3D Printing?"

When it came down to it, he'd never heard anything more appealing in his life...although, he'd rather hoped her question would be a bit more personal. He would take whatever she offered, though.

"I'd love to," he said enthusiastically.

On hearing his answer, all her nervousness seemed to disappear. Her voice became brisk instead. "Alright, then. Let's meet at my office at 1 pm this afternoon to hash out the details.

"That would be great." 

"See you then, Mr. Lannister."

"See you then."

After Dr. Tarth hung up, Jaime pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a moment. This was too good to be true. It was exactly what he had wanted since the beginning of Winter Session. Now that it was actually happening, he felt a writhing nervousness in his stomach. He opted to skip breakfast and decided to take a shower instead.

Padding down the hall to the bathroom, he stood in front of the shower and turned the taps on as hot as he could stand. Maybe a cold shower would be more appropriate, but he wouldn't deny himself the simple pleasures of his favorite morning ritual. After stripping off his clothes, he stepped in and grimaced at the heat of the water. It only took his skin a moment to adjust, though, and soon he enjoying the warm spray of the water and the spicy, masculine smell of the soap Cersei had given him for Christmas. 

Having filled the bathroom with a healthy amount of steam, Jaime got out. He stepped to the sink after toweling himself off, and felt a little flummoxed at how exactly he should get ready for their second or third academic "date." To shave or not to shave, cologne or no cologne. Questions and decisions surrounded him, and he was second-guessing everything as if this was the first time he'd ever spent time with a girl he fancied. You're being ridiculous, he thought. Opting to go simple, he moved to his dresser and took out a black cashmere sweater and a pair of jeans. It was a classic look that he knew suited him well.

The waiting around in his apartment was the worst thing about the whole morning, and he rejoiced when it was finally time to leave. Before he knew it, he found himself standing in front of Dr. Tarth's office. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing thoughts, he knocked on the door. It swung wide after a moment, and his professor appeared before him. She looked stunning. She wore a combination of grey wool suit pants and a white shirt whose fabric had a certain flow to it at the collar and cuffs, giving a feminine touch to a rather androgynous look. The dark eyeliner surrounding her eyes added a touch of drama that was more than was strictly necessary for a Tuesday before classes started. 

He had the irrational thought that maybe, just maybe, she had gone to as much effort to look good for him as he had to look good for her. That was probably delusional, but it was a good thought. 

"Mr. Lannister," she greeted him.

"Dr. Tarth."

She stepped out of the way, and he entered. The now-familiar riot of books and papers greeted him as he sat in his usual chair in front of her desk. 

"So, a journal article...What would we be writing about?" he asked. "You mentioned the 3D printing process."

"Yes," she nodded. "I thought we might expand on your final paper. Between my knowledge of ancient weapons and your personal experience with the forge and recreating the machaira, it seems like we have a good angle for an article on a new methodology for studying Classical weapons." 

"I agree," Jaime nodded. That was what he'd hoped she had in mind. "There's just one thing..."

"Yes?"

"I want to be sure that I pull my own weight on this. I don't want to ride on your coattails, if you know what I mean."

"I do." She smiled wryly. "Don't worry, Mr. Lannister. I'll be sure to put you to work."

That smile would have made his knees wobble if he wasn't already sitting down. He quickly looked down at his messenger bag and started pulling out his notebook of machaira sketches that contained various measurements and analyses of the weapon he and Gendry had recreated. The only problem was an immediate one--where could he possibly put his things? After trying to gently scoot a stack of papers off to the left side of the desk, he froze as the shift in the ecosystem almost made a different stack of papers fall off onto the floor. 

"Did you work on your article with Podrick Payne here?" He tried to make it seem like he was only asking out of idle curiosity and not out of the slight jealousy he still felt toward the other man. 

Dr. Tarth hesitated over her answer, then shook her head. "We met at my house."

"Oh, ok." 

"What?" she asked as he tried to find somewhere to set his laptop down now that his notebook had found a precarious place on the desk's surface.

"It's nothing," he said as he struggled. "Here is completely fine."

Watching him flail around in the sea of books and papers, it seemed like she fought a battle with herself before coming to a decision of some kind. "No," she said finally. "It's silly to work here. There's absolutely no room to look at anything. Let's go back to my place."

His heart leaped. "Sounds good. Want to grab coffee again first?"

She favored him with a quick, if awkward, smile.

"Better not. I can make us a pot when we get to my house."

Jaime felt a sense of relief and anticipation to be moving from her office to her house as he returned his items to his bag and followed his professor out the door of her office. "I seem to remember your house being close by, he said.

"Close enough. It's only a ten-minute walk from here."

He nodded just as the cold slapped him in the face as they exited the Classics building. He snuggled deeper into his coat and longed, not for the first time, for the milder climate of his native England.

"God, it's cold," he said. "Do you ever get used to this weather?"

"I never have, but I'm from the Pacific Northwest."

"Really? What's it like there?"

"Grey and rainy. But you love it when you've grown up with it."

"If you're from there, how did you get your accent, if I may ask?"

"I studied abroad for a year at the University of Cambridge. Every time I go back to visit Britain, it just reinforces my acquired accent. Do you miss it?" she asked.

"England? God, yes."

"Will you head back there once your degree is finished?"

"I don't know. I'll have to see how everything pans out with the job market once I've graduated. Don't worry, though," he said with his cocky grin. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Not until we've had round two with Gendry's swords."

"You really think you can beat me?"

"I know I can."

"Don't test me, Mr. Lannister. I can still push you into a snowbank. In fact, I see one with your name on it right over there." She pointed at a large pile of snow in front of them.

He laughed.

In a few minutes, they stopped in front of Dr. Tarth's house. Now that he was seeing it in daylight for the first time, it seemed entirely homey and charming to him with its green door and snow-filled green flower boxes below the windows. She unlocked the front door and stepped through before turning to beckon him inside.

"Come on in, then I'll see to that coffee. I'm frozen to the bone already."

Jaime took his boots off and set them on the colorful blue and red rag-rag next to Dr. Tarth's own pair. He'd only glimpsed the cozy living room on his way in and out of the house the night of the dinner party, and he remembered how he had wished he could spend some time there with his professor. A sapphire-blue velvet couch looked extremely inviting. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked, because it looked like it would be an incredible spot for napping in front of the fire. Everything was so lived-in and comfortable unlike his sleek and modern apartment with Cersei. In fact, the entire house was not that much bigger than his apartment. Cersei liked her space and liked her surroundings to be grand. 

It was hard not to compare the two most important women in his life--and Dr. Tarth had definitely become the most important woman in his academic life, if not his personal life. His sister and his professor could not have been more different, except for the core of strength and individuality that ran through them. He wondered what Cersei would make of Dr. Tarth. Probably nothing good. She tended to have a jealous streak when it came to him expressing an interest in girls. Not that it mattered. Cersei hadn't given any indication of when she'd be back, even though Spring semester started in a few days. He remembered at that moment that he'd never called her back after the missed call at Gendry's forge. Chagrined, he resolved to call her as soon as he got home that evening.

Jaime made his way to the kitchen and found Dr. Tarth opening the refrigerator and taking out what looked like the remaining fruit and cheese from the dinner party. The sound of coffee dripping into the pot added its comforting rumble to the atmosphere, and a companionable silence reigned in the room between the two of them. The cats chose that moment to saunter in, breaking their aloof postures as they hurried to twine around his ankles, nearly making him trip.

"Have you had these troublemakers long, Dr. Tarth?"

"I've had 'the beasts,' as Margaery calls them, since they were kittens. That was about five years ago."

She eyed him for a moment, then said, “You're not my student anymore. I suppose you had better call me Brienne if we’re going to be working together like this.”

“Alright then...Brienne.” He tried very hard not to sound like he was savoring the word in his mouth like a sip of fine wine. It was suddenly hard not to remember the charged moments between the two of them at the dinner party only a few days earlier. 

As if sensing the same thing, she handed him a mug of the rich-smelling coffee then turned away from him to take a second mug down from a cupboard over the coffee maker. "Cream or sugar with that, Jaime?" she asked.

Hearing her say his name for the first time was even better than he had ever imagined it sounding. It startled him so much that he accidentally gulped the hot drink and tried not to sputter as it burned its way down his throat.

"No, I'm fine," he croaked after a moment. He could have sworn he saw a small smile lift the corners of her mouth as she looked down at the countertop and poured herself her own cup of coffee. Perhaps he should try not to be so obvious in his interest, but if it amused her as much as it seemed like it did, maybe he should just go with it.

"If you'll take my cup into the living room, I'll grab this tray," she said, indicating the food. He nodded and reached out toward her, remembering how their hands had brushed when he'd handed her a beer at Gendry's forge, and how they'd brushed again when she'd handed him his glass of wine at the dinner party. Such small points of contact were maddening, and he couldn't stop remembering them. Thank god for drinks, he thought. This time, the touch of her fingers seemed less like an accident and more like it was on purpose. He tried very hard not to drop the mug and concentrated on walking in a straight line out of the kitchen. He could feel her at his back, though, and it sent a shiver of anticipation across his skin. 

Once they were back in the living room, he set the cups down on the coffee table then lifted the large vase of flowers resting there. "Should I put these somewhere?" he asked.

"Just put them in the dining room, if you don't mind."

Jaime left the vase on the dining room sideboard and returned to find Brienne lighting a fire. 

Brienne. 

Brienne Brienne Brienne. 

Would he ever get used to it? It felt like a luxury to think and say her name. He shook his head, trying to clear it of anything that wasn't professional interest in writing and researching. Walking to the couch, he sat down on the left side of it. He lifted his laptop and notebook out of his bag and sighed in relief at the ability to spread things out on the coffee table's clear surface. This was infinitely preferable to Brienne's office, although he loved the academic clutter of that space. The mess reflected how hard she had worked--and still worked--to stay at the top of her field. 

The object of his admiration sat down on the right side of the couch and gave a short laugh as she took up her coffee in one hand and a strawberry from the fruit plate in the other. "Oh alright, this _is_ better than working in my office." 

Jaime smiled. "It is a little more inviting, I'll admit." He thought for a moment. "Should I have brought along the 3D model and the machaira today?"

"No, it's fine. It's probably better if we work on the thesis and basic outline of the article first. Have you ever published anything before?"

"Just an essay in an anthology on master swordsmen."

"What was your essay about?" she asked.

"It was on 16th-century fencing manuals and how they describe the versatility of sword masters who taught reading and writing on the side or who worked as skilled craftsmen in the Early Modern era."

"That's a little outside your usual time range," she said, looking impressed.

He shrugged. "I had to take a seminar on Early Modern daily life with Dr. Luwin, but I badgered the poor man into letting me write about something at least tangentially related to weapons. No surprise there, I'm sure. It's a miracle he agreed to let me be his advisee after that."

Brienne laughed. "He's quite fond of you, you know."

"Really? That's surprising since I'm a constant pain in his ass."

"Nonsense. You just needed to make the topic your own. You're quite the scholar when you put your mind to it."

"Thank you." He paused. "Did you like teaching our Intro class?"

"I did, in fact. It wasn't what I'd expected to do, but like I said, when you make something your own, it changes things drastically."

"So you miss teaching us?"

"Of course! I've grown very attached to you." As if she realized how her words could be interpreted, she blushed deeply. "Attached to you all, that is." 

Interesting, he thought. He schooled his expression to one of innocence. "Well, the feeling is mutual. For all of us, I'm sure."

"Thank you," she muttered, turning to her laptop and opening a few files at what appeared to be completely at random.

Very interesting. Her nervousness seemed to flutter in the background just as it did with him. He didn't want to distress her, though, so he pulled up a few of his own file folders instead of continuing to flirt. 

"Should we start with the history of the machaira in its heyday?" he asked.

"Yes, let's start there."

With that, the two put aside their hang ups and worked on the thing they loved with equal ardor. It became easy once more to talk to each other just as it had been when they'd first met. After a few hours had passed, Jaime looked around and realized it was starting to get dark outside. The two cats had curled up on the couch between him and Brienne. The dim light, warmth, and the popping sounds of the fire soothed his soul. Her house created a lazy atmosphere he never wanted to leave. Brienne certainly wasn't insisting that he go, either, which he fully appreciated.

"What would the attack style of a medieval swordsman be like compared to that of a Greek rider, just out of curiosity?" she had just asked.

"They would have performed a no-holds-barred attack style. Everything was fair game, chivalry be damned. Knights were perfectly willing to break legs and fingers or stab a man in the balls or the face if that meant they won. Absolutely merciless when it came to sword fighting...sounds rather a lot like someone else I know." He grinned at her. 

She smiled back and reached over to shove his shoulder lightly with the tips of her fingers. "Don't start that again."

He thrilled at the playfulness of the physical contact. He may have wanted a lot of things with Brienne Tarth--to hold her, to kiss her, to talk her ear off about swords--but most of all, he wanted to be her friend. 

She looked out the window at that moment and seemed startled to see how dark it had become. "We should probably stop for the night. I hadn't realized how late it was getting."

"Alright." He'd brushed up on his Homer over the past few weeks and he pulled a quote out of his memory. "There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep." 

Brienne stared at him for a moment then began to laugh. 

"You've really gone all in on this quoting thing, haven't you."

"What? I'm 'all in' with everything I do." He gave her his most devastating grin that few people were able to resist.

"I'll have to keep that in mind." Her eyes sparkled in the intimate glow of the firelight. She was looking at him in an unguarded kind of way. A way she had never looked at him before. It wasn't his imagination that she liked him. He was sure of it now.

He inched a little closer to her.

"Just so I know, what is your favorite line?"

"Oh, it's a section from _The Iliad_ that basically says 'Carpe Diem.'"

Jaime nodded. "I'll have to keep my eye out for that. You definitely have good taste when it comes to, well, everything. Speaking of which, what is that scent you're wearing? It's beautiful." 

He tried not to look at her as he said those words. Better to be offhand about the compliment in case he came across as a creep. But he found himself looking up into eyes as clear and blue as spring-water.

"I don't know," she said, breathing quickly and obviously a little flustered. "It's just something Margaery gave me."

Those eyes were a rare and precious thing. As if she couldn't help herself, she glanced down at his lips, and a jolt of arousal went through him. 

Oh my god, was this actually going to happen? he thought. Just as the thought flew across his mind, she broke eye contact as if sensing the weight of the moment.

"I should let you go. I hate that you have to walk to your apartment in the dark." 

He pulled himself back, respecting her hesitation. "That's quite alright." Getting to his feet, he put his coat and boots back on. Brienne put her boots on as well, surprising him.

"I'll see you outside," she said.

In moments, the two were standing outside in the dim gloom, light coming only through the screen door that led back inside her house. It seemed like her porch was an oasis in the still darkness, and the hush of the snow gave extra weight to their words as they looked at each other without speaking.

Jaime felt like he was walking a tightrope, and he wasn't sure if what he said next would send him plunging toward the ground or not. He pressed forward anyway. 

"We should do this at my apartment next. I could make us dinner since you've had me over a few times now. After all, my family motto is 'A Lannister always pays his debts.'"

She looked doubtful. "I don't know..."

"You could bring the wine, and I could supply the food this time. It's only fair."

Her lips twitched upward and her response seemed like it was dragged from her against her better judgement. "Oh alright. I guess it would only be fair. When would you like to meet next?"

"Tomorrow night too soon?"

"Tomorrow night would be fine."

The urge to kiss her was still there, but they had time. All the time in the world. He would rather wait for the perfect moment than spoil the feelings growing between them.

“Good night, Brienne.”

“Good night, Jaime,” she said quietly. 

The moment hung between them until a piercing yowl came from the other side of the door. They both laughed, and the pleasurable tension disintegrated like smoke on the wind.

"I suppose you had better go take care of 'the beasts.'" 

"It's probably a good idea." She was still smiling as she opened the door and went inside. Once it had closed, he stood on the porch for a moment and breathed in a calming draught of frosty night air. 

A voice broke through the night's silence.

"Are you really trying to score with Brienne the Beauty?" 

Jaime's head jerked towards the origin of the sound. He couldn't see whoever it was who had spoken.

"How ambitious of you," the voice whispered conspiratorially. 

Jaime clenched his fists as a shadow detached itself from the wall of a nearby house. Ramsay Bolton appeared out of the darkness to stand at the foot of the porch. He held a glowing cigarette to his mouth and took a drag, his other hand wrapped around the leash of a fierce-looking hound. Jaime didn't know how they'd managed to miss the man and his dog. He and Brienne had been a little preoccupied, so Bolton must have been able to sneak up on them.

Jaime tried to sound as casual as possible. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bolton seemed unconvinced. "So you weren't coming out of Dr. Tarth's house alone? I live a few doors down from her. I know how much of a loner she is whenever she's not doing whatever it is she's always doing with that slut Margaery Tyrell." Bolton gave Jaime a mocking look. "Maybe you don't stand a chance with The Beauty, after all."

Jaime tried to ease the stiffness in his shoulders. So Bolton turned out to be a slimy piece of garbage? Somehow Jaime was not surprised. There had always been something about the man that rubbed him the wrong way. 

"What do you want, Bolton?"

"What do I want? Why entertainment, of course," he said before taking another drag on his cigarette. "Watching the downfall of the untouchable Dr. Tarth when everyone finds out she's sleeping with a student? Now that will be entertaining."

"Yes, but why would you lie about something like that?"

"Lie? Who says it's a lie? You're the one coming out of her house." He gave a short bark of a laugh. "And even if it is a lie, who cares?"

Jaime didn't know what to say to that. This dumpster fire of a human seemed to be eager to spread gossip, and Jaime didn't want to give weight to any rumors Bolton started. That meant he couldn't launch himself fist-first down the stairs at the man. He did sorely wish he had his new machaira handy so he could run him through with his sword, though. It was locked in his apartment, and that was probably for the best. He didn't think he'd be able to hold back from skewering Bolton at the moment.

"I'm always open to a donation if you'd rather I keep my mouth shut, though," Bolton was saying. "I hear your family shits gold and all that."

"Go to hell, Ramsay."

"Suit yourself," Bolton said, raising his hand in a spiteful wave. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

Jaime clenched and unclenched his fists as Bolton sauntered away. He was just glad that Brienne hadn't been able to hear Bolton's hateful words. Maybe it was naive, but he hadn't really let himself think about how Brienne's reputation as a professor might suffer if there was gossip about a supposed relationship between them. Let alone if that relationship was real. What would the gossip sound like then? 

He walked down the stairs and began to make his way numbly toward his apartment. It had suddenly become clear to him just how dangerous a game he and Brienne were playing. Even if they worked through their nervousness and reservations and had a real relationship, he didn’t think either one of them would be unscathed when it came to academic malice. People would say he only got ahead because of Brienne's and his father's influence, and they would probably say all kinds of horrible things about Brienne abusing her position. It didn't matter if they both were equally enamored with each other for completely good reasons. Everything came down to perception.

That reminded him of the very first day of Winter Session as Brienne stood at the front of the class and spoke about perception being everything when it came to history and the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus. Jaime wasn't immune to gossip and rumor, either. He still remembered the comments that swirled around him and Cersei throughout high school because of the affection between the twins and their standoffishness with everyone else. He had refused to give those gossiping bastards the satisfaction of being any less affectionate with Cersei, and he would be damned if he would give Ramsay Bolton the satisfaction of coming between him and Brienne.

He noticed that a few lights were on in the apartment as he walked up to the stoop, and a small voice in the back of his mind that sounded an awful lot like Cersei said "Stop leaving the lights on all the time." At least his sister wasn't here to meddle in things until everything had worked itself out. He stamped the snow off his boots and used his key to unlock the front door. Closing it behind him, he came to a full stop. He might have left some lights on, but he definitely had not left the stereo on. The sound of an old Elton John song carried through the air. He could just hear the lyrics as he took his boots and coat off.

_I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, oh the bitch is back_

_Stone-cold sober as a matter of fact_

A female voice came from the other side of the apartment, singing along to the song. It was her favorite, as Jaime well knew, and a feeling of dread filled his stomach. Walking into the garish red living room, he found the one person who knew him best and who he couldn't hide anything from. She was sitting in the gold armchair with a glass of wine in one hand and her cell phone in the other. 

Arching a perfectly-manicured eyebrow, Cersei looked him over as she raised the phone to show him the name on the caller ID: Ramsay Bolton.

"Care to tell me what you've been up to, dear brother?"


	10. Irresistible Magic

“…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad.” Homer, _The Iliad_

\----------

Shit, Jaime thought. Shit shit shit.

"It's not what you think," he said. He tried to stamp down the hint of desperation in his voice, knowing his twin's penchant for destruction when she sensed weakness.

"And what is it that I'm supposed to think, then?" Cersei asked, narrowing her eyes. "Because what I think is that you've been getting overly familiar with your professor." 

She shook her head, at his purposely blank expression, seeing through his lack of reaction as if he'd shouted Brienne's name and done cartwheels down the hallway. 

"Oh, Jaime. How...unfortunate."

"There's nothing going on. We're just working on an article together," he insisted.

His twin swept the golden hair that matched his own over her shoulder and pursed her lips. "Ramsay Bolton tells me there's more going on than you're telling me. Dinner, trips to the countryside, locking yourself up with this woman for hours on end all alone? That doesn't sound like nothing to me."

Jaime cursed Bolton to the deepest circle of hell. When you put it that way, it did sound pretty damning. Desperation filled him at Cersei's expression. "Well, what does it matter if I'm spending time with Dr. Tarth? I'm supposed to be getting her to like me so she'll be on my committee. That was the whole point of taking her class."

"And does she?" Cersei asked in a dangerously low voice.

"Does she what?"

"Does she like you?" She put so much bite into the words that Jaime nearly flinched.

"Not like that she doesn't, Cersei."

"Bolton seems to think she does since you're the only person she spends time with besides that horrible Tyrell woman. He also seems to think I should pay him to keep quiet about your indiscretions."

"We're not paying that bastard anything," Jaime snarled. "How do you even know Bolton, anyway?"

"I used him in the past to keep an eye on something."

"To keep an eye on what, exactly?" Jaime asked suspiciously.

"He lives on the same street as that harpy, Margaery Tyrell, and I wanted to see if there was anything I could use against her when I was in her class. Sadly, there was not. Apparently, all she does is grade papers and spend time with your professor. Tragic social life."

"You can't keep manipulating and spying on people like this, Cersei."

Cersei smiled. It was not a kind smile. "Of course I can." She paused. "This is all beside the point. The point is that you need to cut yourself off from whatever is going on between you and Dr. Tarth." 

"I don't need to do anything."

"You don't?" she asked in her soft but steely voice. "Maybe not, but I can't help but wonder what Father would want us to do. Maybe we should give him a call, just to find out."

"No!" Jaime blurted out.

"No? You're not embarrassed at whatever you've been doing, are you, Jaime?"

He glared daggers at his sister. "I'm not embarrassed about anything. I haven't done anything wrong for Christ's sake."

"Not yet, anyway, I see." She considered him for a moment, tapping one fingernail against the arm of the chair. "You haven't thought this through at all, have you?" she mused. "You must know that any kind of romantic relationship with your professor--former professor," she said when he opened his mouth to protest, "would be catastrophic for the family."

"In what way?" Jaime snorted. 

Cersei looked hard at him for a moment, weighing her words before saying, "You know how hard it is for me to navigate my field when I have to put up with powerful men and their inappropriate interest in me. Just last week, Robert Baratheon tried to put his hand on my ass at a campus networking event. He thought I smiled at him too much." She snapped her fingers. "That's all it took for him to think he could do what he liked with me. If you're off romping with your Dr. Tarth, it's going to make it even harder for me. It's not fair, and it's not right, but I'll be judged by association with you, and I won't have it, Jaime. I won't."

"I didn't know about that. I'm sorry." It horrified Jaime that his sister had been forced to put up with such harassment.

“If you had returned my call, you would have known. I suppose you were too busy spending every waking moment with Brienne Tarth.” 

Jaime winced. He had completely forgotten to call Cersei back. It made him feel very small inside that his sister had been forced to sit with her humiliation all alone. 

She went on, completely relentless. "And what about Father?"

Jaime turned away. "What about him?"

He could practically hear Cersei grinding her teeth. "You're supposed to carry on the family legacy in the Humanities. You're supposed to get tenure at a prestigious university, not become the...the...kept man for Father's competition," she spat. "You'll never have a real career if you stay here at Cornell. At best, you could be an adjunct faculty member teaching the courses nobody else wants to teach. What will his colleagues think?"

Jaime looked out the large living room window. He knew he was angry with Cersei right now because he'd already thought of all the things she was saying and had dismissed them as unimportant, like how life would be for his sister or never having his own tenure-track job. But maybe they _were_ important things if they were important to his family. He'd always been taught that family was everything.

Cersei sighed. "Besides," she began "Have you really thought about what your darling professor would face if you do actually start a relationship? It would drastically reduce her academic prospects."

"What are you talking about?" Jaime demanded.

"I'm talking about Peer Review, Jaime. Editors and conference committees won't accept anything by an author who gets bad reviews. If you pit her against Father--because you know he won't take this lying down-- then who's to say she'll make it past those anonymous reviewers. Father will absolutely tank her career if you embarrass him by staying here. And he can do it, too. He's much more established in the Classics field. If you really cared about her you wouldn't be so selfish."

Was he being selfish? he wondered. The thought of Peer Review had never crossed his mind, but maybe it should have. Brienne was in a field that could be very unforgiving. If there was an excuse to knock her down a few pegs, he could imagine many people would take it. Especially if it was completely anonymous and sanctioned by his father. Jaime hated this feeling of helplessness towards their relationship, but he knew how important her career was to her. He never wanted to be the reason she lost what she loved most in the world. 

Jaime's phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached down absently, wondering if it was Brienne. It wasn't.

It was Tywin Lannister.

 _We need to talk._

Jaime swung around and stared dumbly at Cersei, whose cell phone was once more in her hand.

"You didn't. Tell me you didn't just text Father."

"It's for your own good, Jaime."

He ran his hands through his hair. "I can't believe you did that." Jaime had no illusions about what his father would think about his budding relationship with Brienne. In fact, he knew exactly what his father would think. He would think Jaime was being a fool, and his father didn't suffer fools. The thought that he was disappointing his father hurt far more than he had ever expected it would.

He cast around for what he could possibly do to get out of this situation. He just needed to talk to Brienne. But what if Cersei was right? What if his association with Brienne was as terrible an idea as she was saying it was? He didn't want to be selfish, and he certainly didn't want to ruin Brienne's career at the hands of a vengeful father. He'd never be able to forgive himself if that happened. His thoughts were muddled and cloudy as he slowly lifted his phone and pulled up Brienne's contact information. He started to text her.

_I have to cancel our dinner tomorrow_

Her response came almost immediately.

_Is everything alright?_

Jaime didn’t know what to say, so he kept it abrupt and hit “Send” before he could second-guess himself.

_It's fine. I can't talk about it right now_

Dots appeared as if Brienne was typing something. They remained blinking on the screen for a while as if she was phrasing and rephrasing what she wanted to say and then thought better of it. He read what finally appeared.

_I will speak with you later then, Mr. Lannister._

Mr. Lannister. 

God. That text hadn't come out right, and he knew that the reappearance of her formal tone meant he had shattered their fragile intimacy. He knew that if he was the good son and brother he was supposed to be, then he would just send her a text saying he couldn't work on the article anymore. He wouldn't do that via text, though. Not even for the father he admired and the sister he adored. 

He would send an email instead. Then he could explain everything that was going through his mind. He didn't expect Brienne to forgive him. He didn't _want_ her to forgive him. Everything would be easier for her if she felt indifference toward him again. Or, better yet, if she hated him for leading her on.

He looked at Cersei and said nothing. The satisfied gleam in her eyes said that she was savoring her victory. Let her savor it. He knew he was doing the right thing for Brienne. She needed her career more than she needed a complicated life with him. 

An overwhelming sadness began to descend over him. It was interrupted by a knocking sound. Jaime looked up.

His brother, Tyrion, stood in the door to the living room, one hand resting against the door frame. 

"Am I interrupting?"

"Of course you are. Do you do anything but get in the way?" Cersei asked viciously.

"Tyrion!" Jaime exclaimed. He moved forward to greet his brother, and the two shook hands before Jaime broke off the contact and leaned down to embrace the other man instead.

"What are you doing here?" Jaime asked.

"I came to visit you, of course. And I couldn't resist keeping our beloved sister company. She's very fond of me, you know."

Cersei rolled her eyes. "Hilarious. You can stay for a week. That's all."

"You can stay as long as you want," Jaime said. "It's been too long, Tyrion."

"It has, hasn’t it? Don't worry, Cersei. I'll be out of your hair as soon as I have the next few stops in my road trip arranged." He turned to Jaime. "So, you're getting involved with a professor? I couldn't help but overhear our dear sister raging over it."

Jaime looked away. "I'm not getting involved with anyone. It's a mistake, and I'll take care of it."

"So quick to give up on something or someone that's important to you?"

"I think Jaime is doing exactly what needs to be done," Cersei cut in. "He's putting family over his personal interests. It's admirable."

"It's stupid," Tyrion corrected her.

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "And what would you know about doing anything that doesn't benefit yourself, little brother?"

"I know that whoever Jaime's interested in should be welcomed into the family with open arms. Maybe you and Father are the ones being selfish."

She made a frustrated noise and drained the last of her glass in one gulp. "I need more wine. Don't even think of talking about this while I'm gone."

Jaime returned to looking out the window into the pitch blackness. It felt like there was a ragged hole where his heart had once been. He hadn't realized just how much Brienne and her good opinion meant to him. Tyrion stepped up to the window to stand next to him. Jaime expected his brother to chastise him for letting Cersei run his life for him, but he didn't expect what he heard next.

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself." 

Jaime's head jerked downwards to stare at his brother, who was gazing out into the darkness.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Tyrion continued.

"What?"

"I think you're just scared."

Jaime gave a harsh laugh. "I'm not scared!"

"You are. You've never been in a real relationship before, and you don't want to put yourself out there and risk letting yourself get hurt. That's why you're pulling back so easily. But how will you be able to look yourself in the face if you don't step up and fight for what you want?" 

"You heard what Cersei said.”

"Cersei is wrong, and Cersei will be fine. Do you really think our sister couldn't destroy anyone who tried to lay a hand on her or who even looked at her the wrong way? I'd bet good money that's what her reputation is on campus. She's probably plotting Robert Baratheon's downfall via the Title IX Office as we speak. And she'll make it happen, too.”

“You can’t deny she made a good point about disappointing father. His cronies would never let him forget it if I stayed here and became an adjunct professor. Who knows what he'd do?”

“Speaking as someone who is a constant disappointment to Father, he’d get over it. Are scholarly fame and accolades really as important to you as your Dr. Tarth might be?”

Jaime was quiet for a long moment before saying “No. She’s far more important than that. Tyrion...I’ve never felt the way about anyone.”

Tyrion punched Jaime’s leg. “Glad to hear it. So, what are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do? I don’t know. I think I messed up and hurt her feelings with one stupid text message tonight. But how are we ever supposed to trust each other if something that small would drive us apart?”

“You need to give each other time, and give each other a break.”

“So…I should avoid her for a while?”

“No, you idiot!” Tyrion exclaimed. “I mean you should go easy on each other. If she’s been hurt in the past or if she’s never put herself out there, she might not be so eager to jump into a relationship.”

Jaime huffed in frustration. “What do I do, then?”

Tyrion looked up at him. “You need to tell her how you feel. I’m guessing you haven’t even done that yet, have you?”

Jaime shook his head.

“Sometimes I wonder if you traded your brains for your looks,” Tyrion mused.

Jaime bumped him with his leg. “Don’t be a jerk. You know I’m a little sensitive about that.”

“Fine, fine. If you want my advice, tell her everything and let _her_ decide how she wants to move forward. Don’t take that choice away from her. Otherwise, you’ll be dooming the both of you to unhappiness based on what ‘might’ happen. She’s obviously won your heart. Go to her and prove it.”

“Right,” Jaime said, walking to the door. “I’ll head over there right now.” 

Tyrion looked amused. “I didn’t mean go to her this very second. Maybe first thing in the morning, though.”

Jaime nodded. “Tomorrow it is. There’s something I need to look up, anyway.”

He looked around before heading to his bedroom. “Where did Cersei go? She’s taking forever to get that wine.”

The tail end of his brother’s mutter sounded a lot like “...better not be drinking one of my good bottles.”

Jaime shook his head, irritated with Tyrion but grateful to him as well. He would check on his twin, and then he would start researching for the most important and terrifying lecture he would ever give in his life. The subject?

Why Brienne Tarth and Jaime Lannister should be together forever.

\----------

The merry pop and crackle of the fire and the gentle fall of snow outside the window the next morning were all completely contrary to how Brienne felt. She didn't feel merry, and she didn't feel gentle. Not one little bit. What she felt, was that she must be the biggest idiot in the world.

Jaime was gone, and she doubted he would ever come back. Rumors were probably going to start flying about their relationship, and the fact that those rumors would likely sink her efforts to become a full Professor was just icing on the cake. 

Brienne had overheard the tail end of Ramsay Bolton's talk with Jaime. She’d been about to go out on the porch and give her neighbor hell--she didn’t need Jaime fighting her battles for her--but they had already left by the time she got the cats away from the door and her coat and boots on. After getting Jaime’s text an hour later cancelling dinner, she was convinced he had changed his mind about being interested in her. It wasn’t worth it to him. 

Why would it be? He could have anyone on campus and beyond. Why should he bother risking his reputation and career on someone he'd only met one month earlier? She'd fallen into a fitful asleep the night before with those thoughts ringing through her head. 

Now she sat slumped on her living room couch in front of the fire wearing a cute but casual pair of yoga pants and a comfortable grey sweater falling off one shoulder. Unlike practically every other day of the last year, she just didn’t have the energy to put effort into how she looked. Sarpedon was stretched along the back of the couch behind her, and Briseis was curled up in her lap.

Margaery sat nearby on the couch, reading over Jaime's text messages. She looked up at Brienne, and Brienne realized Margaery was in the middle of a speech about true love and about how fighting for what you wanted was more important than anything.

"I've never known you to give up on something like this. Why give up on Jaime Lannister? I see something between the two of you--something really special. You need to go for it and not let anything stand in your way," she finished passionately.

Brienne looked dully into the fire. "It's not that simple, Margaery. What will his peers and his dissertation committee think--or what will his family think of him, for that matter? And what will my own committee think of me? It's impossible." 

Margaery flung her hands into the air. "Oh, who cares what they all think! If you were a man, people wouldn't think this relationship was strange at all. Alright, maybe there would be some finger-wagging, but nothing that would keep a male professor from pursuing a relationship with a female grad student in a _completely different department!"_

"I know you mean well, but things have gone too far already. And you read those texts. He's having second thoughts."

Margaery looked down at the phone again. "I'll admit, he's not the best communicator in the world. But you should throw aside traditional gender roles. Don't just wait for him to come around. Call him over here and tell him how you really feel. You'll regret it if you don't."

Brienne smiled wanly. "I'll think about it. I do so love to shirk convention."

Her friend seemed relieved to hear these words, but Brienne had no intention of doing any such thing. She intended to hide here on the couch with her cats and to drink as much tea as it took to drown her sorrows. A movie marathon would probably be involved as well. As long as none of the films featured men who were blonde or had beards.

"Speaking of standing up for yourself, have you read _Secret Thoughts of Successful Women_ yet? The book on imposter syndrome from the Women's Center book club that I was telling you about?"

Brienne shifted guiltily. She'd promised to read it but had forgotten all about it in her Jaime-induced haze of emotions the last few weeks.

"I never got around to it. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, but it might help get you back in the groove if you're feeling doubtful about your abilities. I'll go grab my copy for you. If I'm not back in a few minutes, it's probably because Melisandre from next door is trying to talk my ear off about her church again."

Before Brienne could protest, Margaery was out the door and heading for her house down the street. Brienne snuggled back into the couch, pulling a blanket over her legs and up to her neck. Just as she got settled, there was an insistent knock at the door.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered to Briseis. "She just left. Did she lock herself out?" Brienne dislodged the cat from her lap and got up to let Margaery back in. "Did you forget your key?" she called out. "Why didn't you use the spare under the--" she broke off.

It wasn't Margaery standing in front of her.

It was Jaime.

Time seemed to stand still and there was a rushing noise in her ears. The screen door slammed shut behind her, trapping the cats indoors. She tried to focus in on more than just Jaime's face and the fact that he was actually here with her, but it was hard to be aware of anything else. He had said something and was looking at her expectantly.

"I'm sorry. What?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Can we talk? I have something to say to you."

Those words made her want to dive back under the blanket on her couch, but she would never give in to her own cowardice. She faced him squarely and nodded. He breathed in slowly as if he was about to dive deep into a frozen lake and didn't know if he'd be able to come back up for air.

"Brienne," he said slowly. "I know on the face of it we haven't known each other that long. Before we met, I needed something from you, and I was interested only in getting what I needed. But from the moment we talked--hell, from the first moment I heard your voice--everything changed."

Brienne opened her mouth to interrupt him, but Jaime held up his hand, saying, "If it's alright with you, can questions come at the end of the speech? You'll like the speech. Trust me." 

Brienne couldn't stop a small smile from lifting the corners of her mouth. 

She nodded. He continued.

"In this past month, you've shown me that you are not only a scholar and that you are not only a beautiful woman, but that you are also a leader, a fighter, a woman who values trust and kindness and sheer goodness over everything else the world has to offer.

"Being around you makes me want to be a better man because being a better man would mean that I would be worthy of your friendship. If I could be worthy of that, I would be so very lucky. And if I could be worthy of your love...?"

Her heart stopped on that final word. 

Love.

He had paused and was searching her eyes to see if she wanted him to continue. She tried to tell him through the weight of her gaze that she did indeed want him to continue. She wanted that so much. He must have seen enough, because he went on, looking deep into her eyes as he did so.

"If I could be worthy of your love, Brienne, then I would truly be the luckiest man in the world. I know I'm not perfect, and that what we have between us won't always feel perfect, but I know that what has grown between us these past few weeks could grow into something even greater if we only give it more time.

"What it comes down to is that we need to be together. We need to try. Because as one Greek author said..." He took another deep breath. "'Any moment might be our last. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.'

"I don't think any words can more clearly sum up what I want to say. This is our moment, Brienne. We need to hold onto it because this chance may never come again, because you are more lovely than I can ever say, because maybe everything that we've been through has shaped us to find what we need in each other. And there will never be a love for either one of us the likes of the love that could spring up between the two of us if we just try. I know it. In my heart, I know it."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

Brienne cleared her throat. "You found my favorite lines," she croaked. She felt stricken and knew she looked as if she might cry at his words. She paused, feeling something like a sob welling up inside of her. "You know this can't happen though, Jaime," she forced out.

"It has to happen. We both need it to happen, and to be honest I don't think anything can stop it. I'm crazy about you, Brienne. You've won me, heart and soul. Beat me in a million sword fights, push me into a million snowbanks, do whatever you want with me, I just want to be with you.

"I don't need you as my professor. I don't need you on my dissertation committee. I need you to be the love of my life. Please, Brienne. We can't let what we have between us slip through our fingers."

He stopped short, and a look of such sadness came into his eyes that Brienne could hardly stand it as he said, "Although...If you don't want me the way I want you, I would understand. But--"

She cut his words short by pulling him toward her and kissing him hard on the mouth. When she pulled away, she said, "You talk too much, Mr. Lannister."

He quickly stopped talking and put his mouth to a completely different use.

Brienne couldn't believe this was happening. His lips were like velvet, and his mouth held a sweetness she couldn't believe. He smelled like the outdoors and some unidentifiable spice that made her blood surge. Everything about him made her senses absolutely sing. 

As they stopped for air, Brienne could dimly sense that they had an audience scattered throughout the neighborhood. Melisandre Asshai was looking out her front door to see what was going on. Ramsay Bolton and his dog were across the street. Bolton was glowering at the two of them. Let him glare, she thought.

And then there was Margaery. 

Margaery stood a few houses down on the sidewalk. In one hand she held a book, and her other hand was held to her mouth. A surprised "O" shaped itself on her lips. When Margaery saw Brienne had noticed her looking, the usual mysterious half-smile transformed into a mischievous grin. She gave Brienne a wink and a gigantic thumbs-up, mouthing a clear "Well done."

Brienne laughed. Grabbing Jaime by the hand, she pulled him towards the door. He eagerly followed. The screen door and the heavier outer door slammed shut behind them as they entered a living room that felt entirely too warm after the chill of the outdoors. Jaime started stripping his coat off as quickly as he could. Brienne tried to help, and they laughed as their fingers tangled clumsily on his buttons.

When he finally dropped his coat to the ground, Brienne pushed him firmly against the closed door and ran her hands over his chest. His own hands were tangled in her hair. Neither one had stopped kissing the other. It was as though they couldn't get enough of each other--as if they needed each other to breathe.

Brienne slid her own hands down to his waist, stroking his hips, and in return Jaime slid one hand down her back and pulled her toward him, crushing her against his chest. Their passion was like a live wire, and she felt as if she were about to burst into flames everywhere their bodies touched. She pulled back for only a moment--long enough to gasp, "Outside on the porch...You said I could do whatever I want with you?"

"Oh yes."

"Then would you like to go upstairs?"

He groaned. "More than anything in the world."

Brienne grabbed his hand and led him past the sapphire-blue couch and up the stairs toward the door on the right. Pushing it open, she was dismayed to see two cat-sized shapes curled up in the middle of the bed. She sighed, particularly as Jaime had pushed her hair away from her neck and was kissing and nipping along the side of it.

"God, you smell good," he said on a low growl, stroking the bare shoulder exposed by her sweatshirt.

At the sound of his voice, the cats' heads shot up. Before Brienne could shoo them off the bed, they were leaping down to the ground and trotting over to weave around the pair's legs. Brienne turned to Jaime and tugged on the bottom of his sweater.

"Off," she said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am" he said with equal parts lust and amusement laced through his voice. He pulled the garment up over his head then dropped it on the ground saying, "It's only fair if you do the same."

"I could be persuaded," she laughed, letting him draw the fabric upward, feeling him skim her sides with his hands as he did so. Jaime turned to unbuckling his jeans next, as Brienne likewise disposed of her yoga pants, leaving her in her matching black bra and underwear. She began to move backwards, drawing him toward the bed. Before they could reach it, though, one of the cats wove a little too tightly between their ankles. With a yelp, Jaime began to fall forwards. He took Brienne with him, and they landed with an almighty thump onto the mattress. 

They both paused for a moment, stunned, before beginning to laugh. Once their giggles had subsided, they looked into each other's eyes and went silent, amazed to find themselves in this position. Each had thought of this intimacy and wanted it so very much, but neither one had ever thought it would happen. Jaime's dark blue eyes locked with Brienne's azure ones. 

Slowly but surely, they began to learn each other's bodies, and they did it the way they learned a text: thoroughly and with infinite care.

\---------

Two months later:

Both Brienne and Jaime considered it a minor miracle that the kitchen table was staying clear of papers and books. The entire house flourished under the newfound care of a besotted professor and a devoted graduate student. The snow had finally begun to recede as Winter gave way to Spring, and Brienne sat at the table, her hair lit up like platinum by the mid-March light. 

She was answering emails on her laptop and fretting about Jaime's dissertation committee. As she read the final message in her inbox, she finished off the last of her coffee and set her empty mug down.

"You don't think you're missing out on anything by having Pod as your outside reader instead of me?" she asked for what felt like the thousandth time.

"Of course not," Jaime said as he measured freshly-ground coffee into the French press he'd brought from his apartment when he'd started spending all his time at the house. After pouring hot water into the press, he turned and leaned his back against the counter top. Crossing his arms, he said firmly, "Pod's doing a great job. He has a ton of connections I can use for networking on top of all the practical experience he has with weapons."

"Besides," he said, pointing a playful finger at her, "now you're required to read my work all the time anyway. Being the thoughtful girlfriend that you are."

Brienne mimed throwing her empty coffee mug at him.

Jaime laughed and turned back to their coffee, pushing the plunger down into the pot. Satisfied with the results, he walked to Brienne's side and poured her a fresh cup, setting the pot down before moving to stand behind her. He bent down to lean his arms on the back of her chair and said quietly into her ear, "I think you should take a break for a while and join me upstairs."

Brienne huffed. "Jaime. We should do the copyedits on our article today. Or I should at least be working on the editor's comments on my latest book chapter."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, a teasing note in his voice as he said,

"Want to settle it with swords in the backyard?"

Brienne laughed, finally turning to look at him. "How about a snowball fight instead?"

"Deal."

Somehow they never made it out the door. Instead, they found themselves wrapped in each other's arms with two cats twining around their legs and trying in vain to get their attention. They kissed each other for a very, very long time, and each couldn't help but think that there were never two people in the world happier to have risked what they'd risked in order to find what they had found.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I can't believe this fic is done! It's the first multi-chapter fic I've ever finished, and I'm so blown away by the response from y'all. Thank you a million times over for being such welcoming readers, and for sticking with me this month on a story that turned out to be a lot more slow burn than I thought it would ;)
> 
> On a slightly different note, I'm about to do Camp Nanowrimo, and I'm going to be doing a series of one-shots set in the Pen and the Sword universe called "Faith, Trust, and Love.” Just FYI, this fic collection will be a little more on the explicit side. I'll be working on the following prompts, but feel free to tell me your ideas or wishes in the comments! :D 
> 
> 1\. Each One’s Delight - Brienne helps Jaime get ready for his dissertation defense. He has other things in mind lol
> 
> 2\. Star of the Waning Summer - They go camping to celebrate Jaime defending his dissertation, and Jaime proposes under the stars. 
> 
> 3\. Dragon Day – The grad student gang reunites to visit Cornell University’s Dragon Day festival. (I can’t believe it’s a real thing, because it’s too perfect for a GoT fic…)
> 
> 4\. My Name is Nobody - They're adopting a kitten! Even though Jaime keeps killing Brienne's plants...
> 
> 5\. The Wine-Dark Deep - Tyrion buys our heroes a weekend at a winery as an engagement present.
> 
> 6\. Eloquence and Strength - A wedding with Margaery as the perfectly naughty maid of honor. Pod gets ordained so he can officiate. 
> 
> Thank you again for being amazing readers!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Faith, Trust, and Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701091) by [MyrsineMezzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrsineMezzo/pseuds/MyrsineMezzo)




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